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BRITISH  ANTHOLOGIES. 


I.   The  Dunbar  Anthology     . 
II.    The  Surrey  and  Wyatt  Anthology 

III.  The  Spenser  Anthology     . 

IV.  The  Shakespeare  Anthology 
V.   The  Jonson  Anthology 

VI.    The  Milton  Anthology 
VII.   The  Dryden  Anthology 
VIII.   The  Pope  Anthology  . 
IX.   The  Goldsmith  Anthology 
X.    The  Cowper  Anthology     . 


1401-1508  A.  D. 

I509-I547  A.D. 
I548-I59I  A.D. 
I592-1616  A.D. 
1617-1637  A.D. 
1638-1674  A.D. 
1675-I7OO  A.D. 
I7OI-I744  A.D. 
I745-I774  A.D. 
I775-180O  A.D. 


THE 

POPE 

ANTHOLOGY. 

I  701-1744  A.D. 


EDITED    BY 


Professor  EDWARD  ARBER,  f.s.a., 

FELLOW   OF   king's   COLLEGE,    LONDON,    ETC. 


A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever; 

Its  loveliness  increases.' 

Keats. 


LONDON : 
HENRY    FROWDE, 

OXFORD    UNIVERSITY   PRESS   WAREHOUSE,   AMEN   CORNER,   E.G. 

NEW  YORK:  91  &  93  Fifth  Avenue. 

1899. 


Contents. 


1-36, 46, 47, 109 


Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk  (1671-1731) ;    Edward 

Leveridge  (1670-1758) ;   Richard 

Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton  ( 1 709-1 773) ;    George 

[?  Mallet  (1705-1765) ;   David       .... 

Miller  (1706-1744);   Rev.  James  .... 

Monk  (c.  1716) ;    Hon.  Mary 

Montagu    (i  689-1762)  ;    Lady  Mary  (Pierrepont,  after- 
wards) WoRTLEY 143-146 

Mordaunt,  Earl  of  Peterborough  (1658-1735) ;  Charles 

MoTTEUX  (1660-1718) ;    Pierre  Antoine     . 

Paget,  Lord  Paget  (i  689-1 742) ;  Thomas  Catesby 

Parnell,  D.D.,  Archdeacon  of  Clogher  (1679-1718) ;  THOMAS 

Philips  (1675-1749);  Ambrose 

Philips  (1676-1709) ;  John     . 

Pope  (1 688-1 744) ;   Alexander 

Popple  (i 701-1764) ;  William 

Prior  (1664-1721) ;  Matthew 

R.,  S.  [c.  1724) 

Ramsay  (1686-1758);  Allan, 

RooME  (?  -1729) ;   Edward    . 

Rowe,  Poet  Laureate  (1674-17 18) ;   Nicholas 

Savage  (?  -1743) ;   Richard  .... 

Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham  (1648-1721);   John 

Somerville  (1675-1742);   William 

Steele  (i  672-1 729);    Captain  Sir  Richard 

Swift,    Dean    of    St.    Patrick's     Cathedral,    Dublin     ( 
1745) ;   Jonathan  . 

Thomson  (i  700-1 748) ;   James 

Thurston  [c.  1729) ;   Joseph 

TiCKELL  (1686-1740) ;   Thomas 

Walsh  (1663-1708) ;   William 

Ward  (1667-1731);    Edward 

Welsted  ( 1 689-1 747) ;    Leonard 

Wesley  the  Elder  (1692-1739) ;    Rev.  Samuel 

West,  the  friend  of  Thomas  Gray  (?  -1642)  ;   Richard 

Williams,  Knight  of  the  Bath  (i 709-1 759) ;    Sir  Charles 
Hanbury        

Yonge,  Bart.  (?  -1775)  ;  Rt.  Hon.  Sir  William 

FIRST   LINES   AND    NOTES       . 
GLOSSARY   AND    INDEX    .... 


1667 


PAGE 

200,  201 

262-264 

244-250 

278,  279] 

265 

152-155 
225 
66,67 
292,  293 
II4-I2O 
104-108 

93 

I,  150,  151 
251 
68-92 
194, 195 
181-185 
218-220 
124-127 
206,  207 

131-135 

214-217 

62,63 

210-213 
278-284 
226,  227 
172-174 

52-54 
175-177 

138,  139 

199 

285-287 

288-291 
236,  237 

301 
307 


VI 


THE 

POPE 

ANTHOLOGY. 

I 701-1744   A.D. 


ON  A  CERTAIN  LADY  AT  COURT. 

\Henrietta  Howard,  Countess  of  Suffolk.'] 

I  KNOW  the  thing  that  's  most  uncommon  ! 

(Envy,  be  silent ;    and  attend !) 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman ; 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a  friend ! 

Not  warped  by  passion,  awed  by  rumour; 

Not  grave  through  pride,  or  gay  through  folly ; 
An  equal  mixture  of  good  humour 

And  sensible  soft  melancholy. 

*  Has  she  no  faults  then/  Envy  says,  '  Sir  ? ' 

Yes,  she  has  one,   I  must  aver ! 
When  all  the  World  conspires  to  praise  her; 

The  woman  's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear ! 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  B 


Alexmtder  Pope. 


ODE  ON  SOLITUDE. 

[This  imitation  of  Horace's  Ode,  Beatus  integer,  d^c,  was  written  in 
1700,  when  young  ALEXANDER  Pope  was  not  twelve  years  old.  The 
present  is  his  revised  text  of  1736.] 

Happy  the  man!    whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound; 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 
In  his  own  ground : 

Whose  herds,  with  milk ;   whose  fields,  with  bread ; 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire  : 
Whose  trees,  In  Summer  yield  him  shade ; 
In  Winter,  fire. 

Blest !   who  can  unconcern'dly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;    study  and  ease 

Together  mixt ;   sweet  recreation  ; 
And  Innocence,  which  most  does  please, 
With  meditation. 

Thus,  let  me  live,  unseen !    unknown ! 

Thus,  unlamented,  let  me  die ! 
Steal  from  the  world ;    and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  He! 


Alexander  Pope. 


These,  equal  syllables  alone  require ; 
Though  oft,  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire  ! 
While  expletives,  their  feeble  aid  do  join  ; 
And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line ; 
While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 
With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes. 
Where'er  you  find  the  cooling  tvestern  breeze, 
In  the  next  line,  it  whispers  through  the  trees. 
If  crystal  streams  with  pleasing  murmurs  creep, 
The  Reader  's  threatened,  not  in  vain,  with  sleep. 
Then,  at  the  last,  and  only  couplet  fraught 
With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a  thought, 
A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  Song, 
That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  draws  its  slow  length  along. 

Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes ;    and  know 
What  's  roundly  smooth,  or  languishingly  slow ! 
And  praise  the  easy  vigour  of  a  line, 
Where  Denham's  strength  and  Waller's  sweetness  join ! 

[True  ease  in  writing  comes  from  art,  not  chance ; 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learned  to  dance.] 
'Tis  not  enough,  no  harshness  gives  offence; 
The  Sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  Sense ! 

Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows ; 
And  the  smooth  stream,  in  smoother  Numbers  flows: 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore. 
The  hoarse  rough  Verse  should,  like  the  torrent,  roar! 

When  AjAX  strives,  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw. 
The  line  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  slow: 
Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain  ; 
Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  Main. 

B  2  -JK 


Alexander  Pope. 


Pope  wrote  but  few  short  Poems  that  are  suitable  for  this  Series.  In 
order,  therefore,  to  do  him  justice,  one  of  his  longer  pieces  is  here  given  ; 
and  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  for  preference,  because,  as  regards  its  form,  it 
is  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  English  Mock  Heroic  Verse ;  while  its 
subject  matter  gives  us  a  charming  picture  of  the  Age  of  Queen  Anne. 

This  Poem  is  in  English,  what  BoiLEAU's  Ltitri?t  is  in  French.  It  is 
based  upon  an  incident  in  real  life  ;  and  the  characters  in  it  are 

Belinda,  Mrs.  Arabella  Thalestris,  Mrs.  Morley. 

Fermor.  Sir  Plume,  her  brother,  Sir 

The  Bar 071,  Lord  Petre.  George  Brown. 

Clarissa. 

While  there  is  much  fun  and  burlesque  pomposity  in  the  Poem,  it 
contains  not  a  few  exquisitely  musical  lines ;  and,  in  other  respects, 
carries  out  the  principles  of  writing  verse  that  POPE  has  laid  down  on  the 
preceding  page.  It  is  also  a  sufficiently  acid  banter  of  the  Fair  Sex  ;  so 
that  Lady  Winchilsea,  at  page  1 1 1,  advises  Pope  to  '  soothe  the  Ladies  ! ' 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

An  heroi-comical  Poem 
In  Five  Cantos. 

A  tonso  est  hoc  nomen  adepta  capillo, — Ovid. 

Nolueram,  Belinda  [Polytimus]  tuos  violare  capillos  : 
Sedjuvat  hoc  prccihus  me  tribuisse  tuis. — Martial. 

CANTO  I. 

What  dire  offence,  from  am'rous  causes  springs, 
What  mighty  quarrels  rise  from  trivial  things ; 
I  sine !    This  Verse  to  Caryl,  Muse !    is  due ! 
This,  ev'n  Belinda  may  vouchsafe  to  view! 
Slight  is  the  subject;   but  not  so  the  praise, 
If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve,  my  Lays! 
4 


Alexander  Pope. 


Say,  what  strange  motive,  Goddess !    could  compel 
A  well-bred  Lord  t'  assault  a  gentle  Belle  ? 
O,  say,  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored, 
Could  make  a  gentle  Belle  reject  a  Lord  ? 
And  dwells  such  rao-e  in  softest  bosoms  then  ? 
And  lodo^e  such  darinof  souls  in  little  men  ? 


Sol,  through  white  curtains,  did  his  beams  display ; 
And  oped  those  eyes,  which  brighter  shine  than  they. 
Now  Shock  had  given  himself  the  rousing  shake ; 
And  Nymphs  prepared  their  chocolate  to  take. 
Thrice  the  wrought  slipper  knocked  against  the  ground; 
And  striking-  watches  the  tenth  hour  resound. 

Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  prest : 
Her  guardian  Sylph  prolonged  the  balmy  rest. 
'Twas  he  had  summoned  to  her  silent  bed 
The  Morning  Dream  that  hovered  o'er  her  head. 
A  Youth,  more  glitt'ring  than  a  Birth-night  Beau, 
(That  ev'n  in  slumber  caused  her  cheek  to  glow!) 
Seemed  to  her  ear,  his  winning  lips  to  lay  ; 
And  thus,  in  whispers  said,  or  seemed  to  say. 

'  Fairest  of  mortals !    thou  distinguished  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air! 
If  e'er  one  vision  touched  thy  infant  thought 
Of  all  the  Nurse,  and  all  the  Priest,  have  taught 
Of  airy  Elves  by  moonlight  shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  Green; 
Or  Virgins  visited  by  Angel   Powers, 
With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heavenly  flowers; 

5 


Alexander  Pope. 


Hear,  and  believe!    Thy  own  importance  know; 
Nor  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  below ! 
Some  secret  truths,  from  learned  Pride  concealed, 
To  maids  alone  and  children  are  revealed ! 
What  though  no  credit  doubting  Wits  may  give ; 
The  Fair  and  Innocent  shall  still  believe ! 

'  Know  then,  unnumbered  Spirits  round  thee  fly ! 
The  light  Militia  of  the  lower  sky! 
These,  though  unseen,  are  ever  on  the  wing. 
Hang  o'er  the  Box,  and  hover  round  the  Ring. 

'  Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air ; 
And  view  with  scorn  two  Pages  and  a  Chair! 
As  now  your  own,  our  Beings  were  of  old  ; 
And  once  inclosed  in  Woman's  beauteous  mould  : 
Thence,  by  a  soft  transition,  we  repair 
From  earthly  vehicles  to  these  of  air. 

'  Think  not,  when  Woman's  transient  breath  is  fled, 
That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead! 
Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards  ; 
And,  though  she  plays  no  more,  o'erlooks  the  cards ! 
Her  joy  in  gilded  Chariots,  when  alive. 
And  love  of  Ombre,  after  death  survive! 

'  For  when  the  Fair  in  all  their  pride  expire, 
To  their  first  Elements  the  souls  retire ! 
The  Sprights  of  fiery  termagants  in  flame 
Mount  up,  and  take  a  Salamander's  name. 
Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away ; 
And  sip  with  Nymphs  their  Elemental  tea. 
The  graver  Prude  sinks  downward  to  a  Gnome, 
In  search  of  mischief  still  on  earth  to  roam. 
6 


Alexander  Pope, 


The  light  Coquettes  in  Sylphs  aloft  repair, 
And  sport  and  flutter  In  the  fields  of  air. 

'  Know  farther  yet,  Whoever  fair  and  chaste 
Rejects  Mankind,  is  by  some  Sylph  embraced; 
For  Spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes,  and  what  shapes,  they  please. 

*  What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  Maids 
In  Courtly  Balls,  and  midnight  Masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treach'rous  friend,  and  daring  Spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark. 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
When  Music  softens,  and  when  Dancing  fires  ? 
'Tis  but  their  Sylph,  the  wise  celestials  know; 
Though  Honour  is  the  word  with  men  below. 

'Some  Nymphs  there  are,  too  conscious  of  their  face, 
For  life  predestined  to  the  Gnomes'  embrace : 
Who  swell  their  prospects,  and  exalt  their  pride; 
When  offers  are  disdained,  and  love  denied. 
Then,  gay  ideas  crowd  the  vacant  brain. 
While  Peers  and  Dukes,  and  all  their  sweeping  Train, 
And  Garters,  Stars,  and  Coronets  appear. 
And,  in  soft  sounds,  "Your  Grace!"  salutes  their  ear. 
'Tis  these,  that  early  taint  the  female  soul, 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  young  Coquettes  to  roll. 
Teach  infants'  cheeks,  a  bidden  blush  to  know ; 
And  little  hearts  to  flutter  at  a  Beau! 

'  Oft  when  the  World  imagine  women  stray, 
The  Sylphs  through  mystic  mazes  guide  their  way! 
Through  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue. 
And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new ! 

7 


Alexander  Pope. 


What  tender  Maid  but  must  a  victim  fall 

To  one  man's  treat,  but  for  another's  Ball  ? 

When  Florid  speaks,  what  Virgin  could  withstand, 

If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand  ? 

With  varying  vanities,  from  ev'ry  part. 

They  shift  the  moving  Toyshop  of  their  heart; 

Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots,  sword-knots 

strive ; 
Beaus  banish  Beaus ;    and  coaches,  coaches  drive. 
This,  erring  mortals  Levity  may  call. 
O,  blind  to  Truth !    The  Sylphs  contrive  it  all ! 

'  Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim  ; 
A  watchful  Sprite,  and  Ariel  is  my  name. 
Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air. 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star 
I  saw,  alas  !    some  dread  event  impend, 
Ere  to  the  Main  this  morning's  sun  descend ! 
But  Heaven  reveals  not  What,  or  How,  or  Where. 

'  Warned  by  thy  Sylph,  O,  pious  Maid !    beware ! 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  Guardian  can ! 
Beware  of  all !   but  most  beware  of  Man ! ' 


He  said:  when  Shock,  who  thought  she  slept  too  long, 
Leapt  up,  and  waked  his  Mistress  with  his  tongue. 

'Twas  then,  Belinda  !    if  report  say  true. 
Thy  eyes  first  opened  on  a  billet-doux. 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardours  were  no  sooner  read  ; 
But  all  the  vision  vanished  from  thy  head ! 
8 


Alexander  Pope. 


And  now,  unveiled,  the  Toilet  stands  displayed; 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,  robed  in  white,  the  Nymph  intent  adores, 
With  head  uncovered,  the  Cosmetic  Powers. 
A  heavenly  image  in  the  Glass  appears ; 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears. 

Th'  inferior  Priestess,  at  her  altar's  side, 
Trembling  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  Pride. 
Unnumbered  treasures  ope  at  once ;    and  here 
The  various  off'rings  of  the  world  appear. 
From  each  she  nicely  culls,  with  curious  toil. 
And  decks  the  Goddess  with  the  glitt'ring  spoil ! 
This  casket,   India's  glowing  gems  unlocks  ; 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box ! 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
Transformed  to  combs,  the  speckled  and  the  white 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 
Puffs,  powders.   Patches,  Bibles,  billets-doux. 

Now,  awful  Beauty  puts  on  all  its  Arms ; 
The  Fair,  each  moment,  rises  in  her  charms! 
Repairs  her  smiles,  awakens  ev'ry  grace. 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face! 
Sees,  by  degrees,  a  purer  blush  arise ; 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes ! 

The  busy  Sylphs  surround  their  darling  care. 
These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the  hair; 
Some  fold  the  sleeve,  while  others  plait  the  gown : 
And  Betty  's  praised  for  labours  not  her  own ! 


Alexander  Pope. 


THE  RAPE   OF  THE  LOCK. 


CANTO  //. 

Not  with  more  glories  in  th'  ethereal  plain, 
The  sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  Main, 
Than,  issuing  forth,  the  Rival  of  his  beams 
Launched  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thames. 
Fair    Nymphs  and   well-dressed    Youths  around   her 

shone ; 
But  ev'ry  eye  was  fixed  on  her  alone. 
On  her  white  breast,  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore; 
Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  Infidels  adore ! 
Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose  ; 
Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfixed  as  those. 
Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends  ; 
Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 
Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike ; 
And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

lO 


Alexander  Pope, 


Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 
Might  hide  her  faults,  if  Belles  had  faults  to  hide 
If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall ; 
Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  them  all ! 


This  Nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  Mankind, 
Nourished  two  Locks ;   which  graceful  hung  behind 
In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  her  smooth  iv'ry  neck. 
Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains ; 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray. 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey. 
Fair  tresses  Man's  imperial  race  insnare ; 
And  Beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair. 


Th'  adventurous  Baron,  the  bright  locks  admired. 
He  saw,  he  wished,  and  to  the  prize  aspired ! 
Resolved  to  win ;   he  meditates  the  way, 
By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray. 
For  when  success  a  Lover's  toil  attends, 
Few  ask,  '  If  fraud,  or  force,  attained  his  ends  ?  * 


For  this,  ere  Phcebus  rose,  he  had  implored 
Propitious  Heaven;    and  ev'ry  Power  adored! 
But  chiefly,  Love!     To  Love,  an  altar  built 
Of  twelve  vast  French  Romances,  neatly  gilt. 

II 


Alexander  Pope. 


There,  lay  the  sword-knot  Sylvia's  hands  had  sown  ; 
With  Flavia's  busk,  that  oft  had  rapped  his  own. 
A  fan,  a  garter,  half  a  pair  of  gloves, 
And  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  Loves. 

With  tender  billets-doux  he  lights  the  pyre ; 
And  breathes  three  am'rous  sighs  to  raise  the  fire. 
Then  prostrate  falls  ;    and  begs  with  ardent  eyes 
Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess,  the  prize. 

The  Powers  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his  prayer ; 
The  rest,  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air! 


But  now  secure  the  painted  vessel  glides, 
The  sunbeams  trembling  on  the  floating  tides ; 
While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 
And  softened  sounds  along  the  waters  die. 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently  play ; 
Belinda  smiled,  and  all  the  World  was  gay! 


All  but  the  Sylph !   With  careful  thoughts  opprest, 
Th'  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 

He  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  Air. 
The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  Sails  repair. 
Soft  o'er  the  Shrouds  aerial  whispers  breathe, 
That  seemed  but  zephyrs  to  the  Train  beneath. 
Some  to  the  sun  their  insect-wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of  gold. 
Transparent  Forms,  too  fine  for  mortal  sight, 
Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolved  in  light. 

12 


Alexander  Pope. 


Loose  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments  flew, 
Thin  glitt'ring  textures  of  the  filmy  dew 
Dipped  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies, 
Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  dyes  ; 
While  ev'ry  beam  new  transient  colours  flings, 
Colours  that  change,  whene'er  they  wave  their  wings. 


Amid  the  circle,  on  the  gilded  Mast, 
Superior  by  the  head,  was  Ariel  placed; 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun. 
He  raised  his  azure  wand,  and  thus  begun. 

'  Ye  Sylphs  and  Sylphids !    to  your  Chief  give  ear ! 
Fays,  Fairies,  Genii,  Elves,  and  Daemons,  hear! 
Ye  know  the  spheres  and  various  tasks  assigned, 
By  laws  eternal,  to  th'  aerial  kind  ! 

'  Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  ether  play ; 
And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day. 
Some  guide  the  course  of  wand'ring  orbs  on  high  ; 
Or  roll  the  Planets  through  the  boundless  sky. 

'  Some,  less  refined,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  light 
Hover,  and  catch  the  Shooting  Stars  by  night; 
Or  suck  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below; 
Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  Bow; 
Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  wintry  Main  ; 
Or  o'er  the  glebe  distil  the  kindly  rain. 

'  Others,  on  Earth,  o'er  Human  Race  preside, 
Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions  guide. 
Of  these,  the  Chief  the  care  of  nations  own  ; 
And  guard,  with  Arms  divine,  the  British  Throne. 

13 


Alexander  Pope. 


'  Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the  Fair ; 
Not  a  less  pleasing,  though  less  glorious,  care. 
To  save  the  powder  from  too  rude  a  gale  ; 
Nor  let  th'  imprisoned  essences  exhale. 
To  draw  fresh  colours  from  the  vernal  flowers ; 
To  steal  from  rainbows,  ere  they  drop  in  showers, 
A  brighter  Wash !    to  curl  their  waving  hairs, 
Assist  their  blushes,  and  inspire  their  Airs ! 
Nay!    oft,  in  dreams,  Invention  we  bestow, 
To  change  a  flounce,  or  add  a  furbelow. 

'  This  day,  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  Fair 
That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  Spirit's  care ! 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force,  or  slight  ; 
But  What,  or  Where,  the  Fates  have  wrapped  in  night! 

'Whether  the  Nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law; 
Or  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw  ! 
Or  stain  her  honour,  or  her  new  brocade ! 
Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  Masquerade ! 
Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a  Ball ! 
Or  whether  Heaven  has  doomed,  that  Shock  must  fall! 

'  Haste  then,  ye  Spirits  !    to  your  charge  repair ! 
The  flutt'ring  Fan  be  Zephyretta's  care ! 
The  Drops  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign ; 
And,  MoMENTiLLA,  let  the  Watch  be  thine  ! 
Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  fav'rite  Lock ! 
Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock! 

*  To  fifty  chosen  Sylphs  of  special  note, 
We  trust  th'  important  charge,  the  Petticoat! 
Oft  have  we  known  that  sevenfold  fence  to  fail ; 
Though  stiff  with  hoops,  and  armed  with  ribs  of  whale ! 
14 


Alexander  Pope. 


Form  a  strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 
And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around  ! 
*  Whatever  Spirit,  careless  of  his  charge. 
His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  Fair  at  large ; 
Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his  sins ! 
Be  stopped  in  vials,  or  transfixed  with  pins, 
Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  Washes  lie, 
Or  wedged,  whole  Ages,  in  a  bodkin's  eye ! 
Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain  ; 
While,  clogged,  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in  vain  ! 
Or  alum-styptics,  with  contracting  power, 
Shrink  his  thin  essence,  like  a  rivelled  flower ! 
Or,  as  IxiON  fixed,  the  wretch  shall  feel 
The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  Mill ; 
'Midst  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow, 
And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  below!' 


He  spoke.     The  Spirits  from  the  Sails  descend. 
Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  Nymph  extend. 
Some  thread  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair. 
Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear. 
With  beating  hearts,  the  dire  event  they  wait ; 
Anxious,  and  trembling  for  the  birth  of  Fate. 


15 


Alexander  Pope. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK, 


CANTO  HI. 

Close  by  those  meads  for  ever  crowned  with  flowers, 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising  towers. 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame, 
Which  from  the  neighb'ring  Hampton  takes  its  name. 
Here,  Britain's  Statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  Tyrants,  and  of  Nymphs  at  home ! 
Here,  thou,  great  Anna!  whom  three  Realms  obey, 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take,  and  sometimes  tea ! 


Hither,  the  Heroes  and  the  Nymphs  resort, 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  Court! 
In  various  talk,  th'  instructive  hours  they  past. 
Who  gave  the  Ball,  or  paid  the  visit,  last! 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  Queen; 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen. 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes; 
At  ev'ry  word,  a  reputation  dies ! 
Snuff,  or  the  Fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat. 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that ! 
i6 


Alexander  Pope. 


Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray. 
The  hungry  Judges  soon  the  sentence  sign ; 
And  wretches  hang,  that  Jurymen  may  dine ! 
The  merchant  from  th'  Exchange  returns  in  peace  ; 
And  the  long  labours  of  the  Toilet  cease. 


Belinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  advent' rous  Knights, 
At  Ombre  singly,  to  decide  their  doom ; 
And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet  to  come. 
Strait,  the  three  Bands  prepare  in  Arms  to  join ; 
Each  Band  the  number  of  the  sacred  Nine. 

Soon  as  she  spreads  her  Hand,  th'  aerial  guard 
Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card. 
First,  Ariel  perched  upon  a  Matadore ; 
Then  each,  according  to  the  rank  they  bore : 
For  Sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient  race, 
Are,  as  when  Women,  wondrous  fond  of  Place ! 


Behold,  four  Kings  in  majesty  revered, 
With  hoary  whiskers  and  a  forky  beard  ; 
And  four  fair  Queens,  whose  hands  sustain  a  flower, 
Th'  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer  power; 
Four  Knaves,  in  garbs  succinct,  a  trusty  band, 
Caps  on  their  heads,  and  halberds  in  their  hand ; 
And  particoloured  troops,  a  shining  Train  ; 
Draw  forth,  to  combat  on  the  velvet  plain  ! 

BRIT.   ANTH.  VIII.  C  17 


Alexander  Pope. 


The  skilful  Nymph  reviews  her  force  with  care. 
*  Let  Spades  be  Trumps ! '  she  said  ;  and  Trumps  they 

Now  move  to  war  her  sable  Matador es,        [were! 
In  show  like  Leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillio  first,  unconquerable  Lord ! 
Led  off  two  captive  Trumps,  and  swept  the  board. 
As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield  ; 
And  marched  a  victor  from  the  verdant  Field. 
Him  Basto  followed;   but  his  fate  more  hard 
Gained  but  one  Trump  and  one  plebeian  card. 
With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a  Chief  in  years, 
The  hoary  Majesty  of  Spades  appears ; 
Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  revealed, 
The  rest  his  many-coloured  robe  concealed. 
The  rebel  Knave,  that  dares  his  Prince  engage, 
Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage, 
Ev'n  mighty  Pam  (that  Kings  and  Queens  o'erthrew. 
And  mowed  down  armies  in  the  fights  of  Lu)^ 
Sad  chance  of  war !    now,  destitute  of  aid, 
Falls  undistinguished  by  the  victor  Spade. 


Thus  far,  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield. 
Now  to  the  Baron,  Fate  inclines  the  Field ! 
His  warlike  Amazon  her  host  invades, 
Th'  Imperial  Consort  of  the  Crown  of  Spades ! 
The  Club's  black  Tyrant  first  her  victim  died, 
Spite  of  his  haughty  mien  and  barb'rous  pride ! 
What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head ! 
His  giant  limbs  in  State  unwieldy  spread ! 
i8 


Alexander  Pope. 


That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous  robe ! 
And,  of  all  Monarchs,  only  grasps  the  globe ! 

The  Baron  now  his  Diamonds  pours  apace. 
Th'  embroidered  King  who  shows  but  half  his  face, 
And  his  refulgent  Queen,  with  powers  combined. 
Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find ! 
Clubs,  Diamonds,  Hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen, 
With  throngs  promiscuous  strow  the  level  Green. 

Thus,  when  dispersed,  a  routed  army  runs, 
Of  Asia's  troops,  and  Afric's  sable  sons, 
With  like  confusion,  different  nations  fly 
In  various  habits,  and  of  various  dye ; 
The  pierced  battalions,  disunited,  fall 
In  heaps  on  heaps.     One  fate  o'erwhelms  them  all ! 

The  Knave  of  Diamonds  now  exerts  his  arts, 
And  wins  (O,  shameful  chance  !)  the  Queen  of  Hearts. 

At  this,  the  blood  the  Virgin's  cheek  forsook, 
A  livid  paleness  spreads  o'er  all  her  look. 
She  sees ;   and  trembles  at  th'  approaching  ill ! 
Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  CodilleX 

And  now  (as  oft  in  some  distempered  State), 
On  one  nice  Trick  depends  the  gen'ral  fate. 
An  Ace  of  Hearts  steps  forth.     The  King  unseen 
Lurked  in  her  Hand,  and  mourned  his  captive  Queen. 
He  springs  to  vengeance  with  an  eager  pace; 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate  Ace. 

The  Nymph,  exulting,  fills  with  shouts  the  sky; 
The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  reply ! 

c  2  19 


Alexander  Pope. 


O,  thoughtless  mortals !    ever  blind  to  Fate ! 
Too  soon  dejected  ;    and  too  soon  elate  ! 
Sudden,  these  honours  shall  be  snatched  away ; 
And  cursed  for  ever,  this  victorious  day! 


For,  lo !  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is  crowned, 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  Mill  goes  round. 
On  shining  altars  of  Japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp,  and  fiery  spirits  blaze  ! 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors  glide  ; 
And  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide. 
At  once,  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste ; 
While  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 

Strait,  hover  round  the  Fair  her  airy  band. 
Some,  as  she  sipped,  the  fuming  liquor  fanned ; 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  displayed, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade. 


Coffee  (which  makes  the  Politician  wise, 
And  see  through  all  things  with  his  half-shut  eyes) 
Sent  up  in  vapours  to  the  Baron's  brain 
New  stratagems,  the  radiant  Lock  to  gain. 

Ah !    cease,  rash  Youth  !    desist,  ere  'tis  too  late  ! 
Fear  the  just  Gods,  and  think  of  Scyli,a's  ^  fate ! 
Changed  to  a  bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air ; 
She  dearly  pays  for  Nisus'  injured  hair! 

^  Vide  Ovid,  Metamorphoses,  VIII. 
20 


Alexander  Pope. 


But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  mind ; 
How  soon  fit  instruments  of  ill  they  find ! 

Just  then,  Clarissa  drew,  with  tempting  grace, 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case. 
So  Ladies,  in  Romance,  assist  their  Knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 

He  takes  the  gift  with  reverence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends. 
This,  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her  head. 

Swift  to  the  Lock,  a  thousand  Sprights  repair  ! 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair! 
And  thrice  they  twitched  the  diamond  in  her  ear; 
Thrice  she  looked  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near ! 

Just,  in  that  instant,  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  Virgin's  thought, 
As,  on  a  nosegay  in  her  breast  reclined. 
He  watched  th'  ideas  rising  in  her  mind. 
Sudden,  he  viewed,  in  spite  of  all  her  art, 
An  earthly  Lover  lurking  at  her  heart! 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  expired ; 
Resigned  to  Fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired. 

The  Peer  now  spreads  the  glitt'ring  forfex  wide 
T'  inclose  the  Lock ;    now  joins  it,  to  divide ! 

Ev'n  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  Sylph  too  fondly  interposed ! 
Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  Sylph  in  twain  ; 
But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again !  ^ 

*■  See  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  Lib.  VI. 

21 


Alexander  Pope. 


The  meeting  points,  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for  ever! 

Then  flashed  the  living  lightnings  from  her  eyes, 
And  screams  of  horror  rend  th'  affrighted  skies ! 
No  louder  shrieks  by  Dames,  to  Heaven  are  cast 
When  husbands,  or  when  monkeys,  breathe  their  last ; 
Or  when  rich  china  vessels,  fallen  from  high, 
In  glitt'ring  dust  and  painted  fragments  lie ! 

'  Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples  twine ! ' 
The  victor  cried,  '  the  glorious  prize  is  mine ! 
While  fish,  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in  air. 
Or  in  a  Coach  and  Six,  the  British  Fair ; 
As  long  as  Atalaiitis  shall  be  read. 
Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a  Lady's  bed; 
While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days. 
When  numerous  wax-lights  in  bright  order  blaze ; 
While  Nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations  give  ; 
So  long  my  honour,  name,  and  praise  shall  live  ! ' 

* 

What  time  would  spare,  from  steel  receives  its  date ; 
And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  Fate ! 
Steel  did  the  labour  of  the  Gods  destroy, 
And  strike  to  dust  th'  imperial  towers  of  Troy! 
Steel  could  the  works  of  mortal  pride  confound; 
And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground ! 
What  wonder,  then,  fair  Nymph !   thy  hairs  shall  feel 
The  conqu'ring  force  of  unresisted  steel! 

22 


Alexander  Pope. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 


CANTO  IV. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  Nymph  opprest ; 
And  secret  Passions  laboured  in  her  breast. 
Not  youthful  Kings  in  battle  seized  alive,    - 
Not  scornful  Virgins  who  their  charms  survive, 
Not  ardent  Lovers  robbed  of  all  their  bliss, 
Not  ancient  Ladies  when  refused  a  kiss. 
Not  Tyrants  fierce  that  unrepenting  die, 
Not  Cynthia  when  her  manteau  's  pinned  awry, 
E'er  felt  such  rage,  resentment,  and  despair, 
As  thou,  sad  Virgin !   for  thy  ravished  hair ! 


For,  that  sad  moment  when  the  Sylphs  withdrew, 
And  Ariel  weeping,  from  Belinda  flew, 
Umbriel,  a  dusky  melancholy  Spright 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 
Down  to  the  central  earth,  his  proper  scene, 
Repairs,  to  search  the  gloomy  Cave  of  Spleen. 

23 


Alexander  Pope. 


Swift  on  his  sooty  pinions  flits  the  Gnome, 
And  in  a  vapour  reached  the  dismal  Dome. 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows ; 
The  dreaded  East  is  all  the  wind  that  blows  ! 
Here,  in  a  grotto,  sheltered  close  from  air, 
And  screened  in  shades  from  day's  detested  glare,         j 
She  sighs  for  ever,  on  her  pensive  bed; 
Pain  at  her  side,  and  Megrim  at  her  head. 


Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne :   alike  in  Place, 
But  diff'ring  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 

Here,  stood  III  Nature,  like  an  ancient  Maid, 
Her  wrinkled  form  in  black  and  white  arrayed. 
With  store  of  Prayers  for  mornings,  nights,  and  noons 
Her  hand  is  filled ;    her  bosom,  with  lampoons. 

There,  Affectation,  with  a  sickly  mien, 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen. 
Practised  to  lisp,  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  Airs,  and  languishes  with  pride. 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapped  in  a  gown  for  sickness,  and  for  show ! 
The  Fair  Ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these, 
When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a  new  disease. 


A  constant  vapour  o'er  the  Palace  flies ; 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as  the  mists  arise, 
Dreadful  as  Hermit's  dreams  in  haunted  shades, 
Or  bright  as  visions  of  expiring  Maids. 
24 


Alexander  Pope. 


Now,  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes  on  rolling  spires. 
Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple  fires ! 
Now,  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  Angels  in  Machines ! 

Unnumbered  throngs  on  ev'ry  side  are  seen 
Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by  Spleen. 
Here,  living  Teapots  stand,  one  arm  held  out, 
One  bent;   the  handle  this,  and  that  the  spout. 
A   Pipkin  there,  like  Homer's  Tripod^  walks. 
Here  sighs  a  Jar;   and  there  a  Goose-pie  talks! 
Men  prove  with  child,  as  powerful  fancy  works ; 
And  maids  turned  Bottles,  call  aloud  for  corks ! 

Safe  passed  the  Gnome  through  this  fantastic  band, 
A  branch  of  healing  Spleenwort  in  his  hand. 
Then   thus  addressed  the    Power.      '  Hail,    wayward 
Who  rule  the  Sex  to  Fifty,  from  Fifteen!    [Queen! 
Parent  of  Vapours  and  of  Female  Wit; 
Who  give  th'  hysteric,  or  poetic,  fit ! 
On  various  tempers  act  by  various  ways, 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble  Plays ! 
Who  cause  the  Proud,  their  visits  to  delay; 
And  send  the  Godly,  in  a  pet,  to  pray! 

'  A   Nymph  there  is,  that  all  thy  power  disdains ; 
And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  maintains. 
But  O,  if  e'er  thy  Gnome  could  spoil  a  grace, 
Or  raise  a  pimple  on  a  beauteous  face ; 

1  See  Homer,  Iliad,  XVIII,  of  Vulcan's  walking  Tripods. 

25 


Alexander  Pope. 


Like  Citron  Waters,  matrons'  cheeks  inflame ; 

Or  change  complexions  at  a  losing  game ; 

If  e'er  with  airy  horns  I  planted  heads, 

Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds ; 

Or  caused  suspicion  where  no  soul  was  rude, 

Or  discomposed  the  head-dress  of  a  Prude ; 

Or  e'er  to  costive  lap-dog  gave  disease ; 

Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could  ease : 

Hear  me,  and  touch  Belinda  with  chagrin ! 

That  single  act  gives  half  the  World  the  Spleen ! ' 


The  Goddess,  with  a  discontented  Air, 
Seems  to  reject  him ;    though  she  grants  his  prayer. 

A  wondrous  bag,  with  both  her  hands  she  binds, 
Like  that  where  once  Ulysses  held  the  winds. 
There  she  collects  the  force  of  female  lungs, 
Sighs,  sobs,  and  Passions,  and  the  war  of  tongues. 

A  vial  next  she  fills  with  fainting  fears. 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  flowing  tears. 

The  Gnome,  rejoicing,  bears  her  gift  away; 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts  to  day. 


Sunk  in  Thalestris   arms  the  Nymph  he  found ; 
Her  eyes  dejected,  and  her  hair  unbound. 
Full  o'er  their  heads  the  swelling  bag  he  rent; 
And  all  the  Furies  issued  at  the  vent! 

Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire; 
And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  fire. 
26 


Alexander  Pope. 


*0,  wretched  Maid!'  she  spread  her  hands,  and  cried 
While  Hampton's  echoes  '  wretched  Maid  ! '  replied, 
'Was  it  for  this,  you  took  such  constant  care, 
The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence  to  prepare ! 
For  this,  your  Locks  in  paper-durance  bound! 
For  this,  with  tort' ring  irons  wreathed  around ! 
For  this,  with  fillets  strained  your  tender  head ; 
And  bravely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead ! 

'  Gods !    shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair ; 
While  the  Fops  envy,  and  the  Ladies  stare ! 
Honour  forbid!    at  whose  unrivalled  shrine. 
Ease,  pleasure,  virtue,  all,  our  Sex  resign ! 

'  Methinks,  already,  I  your  tears  survey ! 
Already,  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say! 
Already,  see  you  a  degraded  Toast; 
And  all  your  honour  in  a  whisper  lost ! 
How  shall  I  then,  your  helpless  fame  defend  ? 
'Twill  then,  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend ! 

*And  shall  this  prize,  th'  inestimable  prize, 
Exposed  through  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes. 
And  heightened  by  the  diamonds'  circling  rays, 
On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze! 
Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde  Park  Circus  grow ! 
And  Wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of  Bow! 
Sooner  let  Earth,  Air,  Sea,  to  Chaos  fall ! 
Men,  monkeys,  lap-dogs,  parrots,  perish  all ! ' 


She  said :    then,  raging,  to  Sir  Plume  repairs ; 
And  bids  her  Beau  demand  the  precious  hairs ! 


Alexander  Pope. 


Sir  Plume,  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane, 
With  earnest  eyes  and  round  unthinking  face, 
He  first  the  snuff-box  opened,  then  the  Case: 
And  thus  broke  out,  *  My  Lord!  why,  what  the  Devil! 
Zounds!  damn  the  Lock!  'fore  Gad!  you  must  be  civil! 
Plague  on  't !    'Tis  past  a  jest !    Nay !    prithee,  pox ! 
Give  her  the  hair!'    He  spoke,  and  rapped  his  box! 

'  It  grieves  me  much,'  replied  the  Peer  again, 
'Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in  vain! 
But,  by  this  Lock !  ^    this  sacred  Lock,  I  swear 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted  hair! 
Which  never  more  its  honours  shall  renew ! 
Clipped  from  the  lovely  head,  where  once  it  grew) 
That,  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air. 
This  hand,  which  won  it,  shall  for  ever  wear ! ' 
He  spoke  :    in  speaking,  in  proud  triumph,  spread 
The  long-contended  honours  of  her  head. 

But  Umbriel,  hateful  Gnome!  forbears  not  so! 
He  breaks  the  vial  whence  the  Sorrows  flow! 

Then,  see  !  The  Nymph  in  beauteous  grief  appears ; 
Her  eyes  half  languishing,  half  drowned  in  tears. 
On  her  heaved  bosom  hung  her  drooping  head, 
Which,  with  a  sigh,  she  raised ;   and  thus  she  said : 

'  For  ever  cursed  be  this  detested  day ; 
Which  snatched  my  best,  my  fav'rite,  curl  away ! 

^  In  allusion  to  ACHiLLEs'  oath  in  Homer,  Iliad,  I. 
28 


Alexander  Pope. 


Happy  !    ah  !    ten  times  happy  had  I  been, 

If  Hampton  Court  these  eyes  had  never  seen  ! 

Yet  am  I  not  the  first  mistaken  Maid, 

By  love  of  Courts  to  num'rous  ills  betrayed ! 

O,  had  I  rather,  unadmired,  remained 

In  some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land  ; 

Where  the  gilt  Chariot  never  marks  the  way, 

Where  none  learn  Ombre,  none  e'er  taste  Bohea ! 

There,  kept  my  charms  concealed  from  mortal  eye, 

Like  roses  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die  ! 

'  What  moved  my  mind  with  youthful  Lords  to  roam  ? 
O,  had  I  stayed  and  said  my  prayers  at  home ! 

'  'Twas  this,  the  morning  omens  seemed  to  tell ! 
Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  Patch-box  fell ! 
The  tott'ring  china  shook  without  a  wind  ! 
Nay !   Poll  sat  mute ;   and  Shock  was  most  unkind ! 
A  Sylph  too  warned  me  of  the  threats  of  Fate, 
In  mystic  visions,  now  believed  too  late ! 

'See  the  poor  remnants  of  these  slighted  hairs! 
My  hands  shall  rend  what  ev'n  thy  rapine  spares ! 
These,  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to  break, 
Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck. 
The  sister  Lock  now  sits  uncouth,  alone ; 
And  in  its  fellow's  fate  foresees  its  own ! 
Uncurled  it  hangs  !    The  fatal  shears  demands  ; 
And  tempts  once  more  thy  sacrilegious  hands  ! 
Oh  !   hadst  thou,  cruel !    been  content  to  seize 
Hairs  less  in  sight;    or  any  hairs  but  these!' 


29 


Alexander  Pope. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK, 


CANTO   V. 

She  said.     The  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears : 
But  Fate  and  Jove  had  stopped  the  Baron's  ears! 
In  vain,  Thalestris,  with  reproach  assails; 
For  who  can  move,  when  fair  Belinda  fails ! 
Not  half  so  fixed  the  Trojan  could  remain, 
While  Anna  begged,  and  Dido  urged,  in  vain  \ 

[First  added  in  the  Fifth  Edition  of  171 8. 

Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her  fan. 
Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  Nymph  began. 

'  Say,  why  are  Beauties  praised  and  honoured  most  ? 
The  wise  man's  Passion,  and  the  vain  man's  Toast! 
Why  decked  with  all  that  land  and  sea  afford  ? 
Why  Angels  called,  and  Angel-like  adored  ? 
Why  round  our  coaches  crowd  the  white-gloved  Beaus  ? 
Why  bows  the  Side-Box  from  its  inmost  rows  ? 

'  How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  all  our  pains ; 
Unless  Good  Sense  preserve  what  Beauty  gains ! 
Then  men  may  say,  when  we  the  Front-Box  grace, 
Behold  the  first  in  virtue,  as  in  face  I 
30 


Alexander  Pope. 


'  O,  if  to  dance  all  night,  and  dress  all  day, 
Charmed  the  Small-pox,  or  chased  old  age  away  ; 
Who  would  not  scorn  what  housewife's  cares  produce, 
Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of  use ! 
To  patch,  nay,  ogle  !   might  become  a  Saint ; 
Nor  could  it,  sure,  be  such  a  sin  to  paint! 

*  But  since,  alas !  frail  Beauty  must  decay ! 
Curled,  or  uncurled,  since  Locks  will  turn  to  grey! 
Since,  painted,  or  not  painted,  all  shall  fade ! 
And  she  who  scorns  a  Man,  must  die  a  Maid ! 
What  then  remains,  but  well  our  power  to  use ; 
And  keep  Good  Humour  still,  whate'er  we  lose  ? 
And  trust  me,  Dear!  Good  Humour  can  prevail. 
When  Airs,  and  flights,  and  screams,  and  scolding  fail ! 
Beauties,  in  vain,  their  pretty  eyes  may  roll ; 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the  soul!' 

So  spake  the  Dame  ;    but  no  applause  ensued ! 
Belinda  frowned.     Thalestris  called  her  'Prude!' 
'  To  Arms !   To  Arms !   the  fierce  virago  cries ;] 

'  To  Arms !   To  Arms  ! '   the  bold  Thalestris  cries ; 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies! 
All  side  in  Parties,  and  begin  th'  attack; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whalebones  crack ! 
Heroes'  and  heroines'  shouts  confus'dly  rise  ; 
And  bass  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies! 
No  common  weapons  in  their  hands  are  found; 
Like  Gods  they  fight,  nor  dread  a  mortal  wound! 

3^ 


Alexander  Pope. 


^  So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  Gods  engage, 
And  heavenly  breasts  with  human  Passions  rage; 
'Gainst  Pallas,  Mars;    Latona,  Hermes  arms; 
And  all  Olympus  rings  Math  loud  alarms  ! 
Jove's  thunder  roars  !    Heaven  trembles  all  around  ! 
Blue  Neptune  storms  !   The  bellowing  deeps  resound ! 
Earth  shakes  her  nodding  Towers !  The  ground  gives 
And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of  day !       [way ; 

Triumphant  Umbriel,  on  a  sconce's  height, 
Clapped  his  glad  wings  ;   and  sat  to  view  the  fight. 
Propped  on  their  bodkin  spears,  the  Sprights  survey 
The  growing  combat ;    or  assist  the  fray. 

While  through  the  press  enraged  Thalestris  flies, 
And  scatters  deaths  around  from  both  her  eyes ; 
A  Beau  and  Witling  perished  in  the  throng; 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  Song. 

'  O,  cruel  Nymph  !   a  living  death   I  bear ! ' 
Cried  Dapperwit;    and  sunk  beside  his  Chair. 

A  mournful  glance  Sir  Fopling  upwards  cast, 
'  Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing ! '  ^   was  his  last. 
Thus  on  Meander's  flow'ry  margin  lies 
Th'  expiring  swan  ;    and,  as  he  sings,  he  dies ! 

When  bold  Sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clarissa  down ; 
Chloe  stepped  in,  and  killed  him  with  a  frown  ! 
She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain  ; 
But,  at  her  smile,  the  Beau  revived  again ! 

*  Homer,  Iliad,  XX.  ^  A  Song  in  the  Opera  of  Camilla. 

32 


Alexander  Pope. 


^  Now  Jove  suspends  his  Golden  Scales  in  air, 
Weighs  the  men's  wits  against  the  Lady's  hair  ; 
The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to  side. 
At  length,  the  wits  mount  up !    the  hairs  subside ! 

See,  fierce  Belinda  on  the  Baron  flies 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  her  eyes  ! 
Nor  feared  the  Chief  th'  unequal  fight  to  try; 
Who  sought  no  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die! 

But  this  bold  Lord,  with  manly  strength  endued, 
She  with  one  finp;er  and  a  thumb  subdued! 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils  drew, 
A  charge  of  snuff  the  wily  Virgin  threw. 
The  Gnomes  direct,  to  ev'ry  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust! 
Sudden,  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o'erflows  ; 
And  the  high  dome  re-echoes  to  his  nose ! 

*  Now,  meet  thy  fate ! '   incensed  Belinda  cried  ; 
And  drew  a  deadly  bodkin  from  her  side. 

(^  The  same,  his  ancient  personage  to  deck. 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his  neck 
In  three  Seal-Rings;   which,  after,  melted  down 
Formed  a  vast  buckle  for  his  Widow's  gown. 
Her  infant  grandame's  whistle  next  it  grew; 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew. 
Then  in  a  bodkin,  graced  her  mother's  hairs ; 
Which  long  she  wore,  and  now  Belinda  wears.) 

^  Vide  Homer,  Iliad,  VIII ;  and  Virgil,  Mneid,  XII. 

^  In  imitation  of  the  progress  of  Agamemnon's  sceptre  in  Homer,  Iliad,  II. 

BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  D  33 


Alexander  Pope, 


'  Boast  not  my  fall ! '    he  cried,  *  insulting  foe  ! 
Thou  by  some  other  shalt  be  laid  as  low! 
Nor  think,  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind! 
All  that  I  dread  is  leaving  you  behind ! 
Rather  than  so,   ah !    let  me  still  survive, 
And  burn  in  Cupid's  flames:    but  burn  alive!' 

'  Restore  the  Lock  ! '    she  cries  ;   and  all  around 
*  Restore  the  Lock ! '   the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
Not  fierce  Othello,  in  so  loud  a  strain. 
Roared  for  the  handkerchief  that  caused  his  pain! 


But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  crossed ; 
And  Chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost ! 
The  Lock,  obtained  with  guilt,  and  kept  with   pain, 
In  ev'ry  place  is  sought ;   but  sought  in  vain ! 
With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest ! 
So  Heaven  decrees  !    With  Heaven,  who  can  contest? 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  Lunar  Sphere, 
^  Since  all  things  lost  on  Earth  are  treasured  there. 
There,  Heroes'  wits  are  kept  in  pond'rous  vases ; 
And  Beaus',  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer  cases. 
There,  broken  vows  and  death-bed  alms  are  found ; 
And  Lovers'  hearts  with  ends  of  ribband  bound. 
The  Courtier's  promises,  the  Sick  Man's  prayers, 
The  smiles  of  Harlots,  and  the  tears  of  Heirs. 
Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea; 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  Casuistry. 

*  Vide  Ariosto,  {Orlando  furio5o\  Canto  XXXIV. 
34 


Alexander  Pope. 


But  trust  the  Muse  !    She  saw  it  upward  rise ; 
Though  marked  by  none  but  quick  poetic  eyes ! 
(So  Rome's  great  Founder  to  the  Heavens  withdrew ; 
To  Procullus  alone  confessed  in  view !) 

A  sudden  star,  it  shot  through  liquid  air; 
And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair! 
Not  Berenice's  locks  first  rose  so  bright ; 
The  heavens  bespangling  with  dishevelled  light. 

The  Sylphs  behold  it,  kindling,  as  it  flies ; 
And,  pleased,  pursue  its  progress  through  the  skies. 

This,  the  Beau  Monde  shall  from  the  Mall  survey ; 
And  hail,  with  music,  its  propitious  ray ! 

This,  the  blessed  Lover  shall,  for  Venus  take ; 
And  send  up  vows  from  Rosamonda's  Lake  ! 
This,  Partridge  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless  skies, 
When  next  he  looks  through  Galileo's  eyes  ; 
And  hence,  th'  egregious  Wizard  shall  foredoom 
The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Rome. 

Then,  cease,  bright  Nymph!  to  mourn  the  ravished 
Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining  Sphere !       [hair; 
Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast. 
Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  Lock  you  lost ! 

For,  after  all  the  murders  of  your  eye, 
When,  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall  die ; 
When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they  must! 
And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  in  dust : 
This  Lock,  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to  Fame, 
And,  'midst  the  stars,  inscribe  Belinda's  name  ! 

D2  35 


AlexaJider  Pope. 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

[The  earlier  form  of  this  imitation  of  the  Emperor  Hadrian's  Animtila, 
vagula,  blandtda,  was  written  in  1 712,  and  first  printed  in  1730.  The 
present  is  the  revised  text  of  1736.  It  is  thought  that  Pope  was  somewhat 
indebted  to  the  poem  of  Flatman  which  will  be  found  in  Volume  VI.  293 
of  this  Series.] 

Vital  spark  of  heav'nly  flame ; 
Quit,  O,  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  ling'ring,  flying; 
O,  the  pain,  the  bliss,  of  dying! 
Cease,  fond  Nature  !   cease  thy  strife ; 
And  let  me  languish  into  life ! 

Hark  !    they  whisper !     Angels  say, 
*  Sister  Spirit !    come  away  ! ' 
What  is  this  absorbs  me   quite, 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  "my  breath? 
Tell  me,  my  soul !     Can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes  !     It  disappears  ! 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes !     My  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring! 
Lend,  lend  your  wings  !    I  mount  I    I  fly ! 
O,  Grave !    where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O,  Death !    where  is  thy  sting  ? 


36 


Anonymous. 


Here  's  a  Health  to  the  Oueen,  and  a  lastino-  Peace ! 
To  faction  an  end,  to  wealth  increase  ! 
Come,  let  's  drink  it,  while  we  have  breath ; 
For  there  's  no  drinking  after  death  ! 
And  he  that  will  this   Health  deny, 
Down  among  the  dead  men  \empty  bottles]  let  him  lie ! 

Let  charming  Beauty's  Health  go  round! 
In  whom  celestial  joys  are  found: 
And  may  confusion  still  pursue 
The  senseless  woman-hatingf  crew ! 
And  they  that  Woman's   Health  deny, 
Down  among  the  dead  men  let  them  lie ! 

In  smiling  Bacchus'  joys  I'll  roll ! 
Deny  no  pleasure  to  my  soul ! 
Let  Bacchus'  Health,  round  briskly  move ; 
For  Bacchus  is  a  friend  to  Love  ! 
And  he  that  will  his  Health  deny, 
Down  among  the  dead  men  let  him  lie! 

May  Love  and  Wine,  their  rites  maintain; 
And  their  united  pleasures  reign  I 
While  Bacchus'  treasure  crowns  the  board  ; 
We'll  sing  the  joys  that  both  afford ! 
And  they  that  won't  with  us  comply, 
Down  among  the  dead  men  let  them  He ! 


37 


Rt.  Hon.  jfoseph  Addison. 


A  LETTER  FROM  ITALY 
TO  TEE  Rt.  Hos.  Charles  AIontagu,  Lord  Halifax, 

1701. 

Salve  magna  parens  frugiun  Saturnia  tellus, 
JIag?ia   Virum  !   tibi  res  aiitiqiue  laudis  et  artis 
Aggrcdior,  saiutos  ausus  reclud^re  fontes. 

Virgil,  Georgus,  II. 

While  you,  my  Lord !    the  rural  shades  admire, 
And  from  BritaxxlVs  Public  Posts  retire ; 
Nor  longer,  her  ungrateful  sons  to  please. 
For  their  advantage,  sacrifice  your  ease : 
Me  into  foreign  realms  my  fate  conveys, 
Through  nations  fruitful  of  immortal  Lays ; 
Where  the  soft  season  and  inviting  clime 
Conspire  to  trouble  your  repose  with  rhyme. 


For  wheresoe'er  I  turn  my  ravished  eyes, 
Gay  gilded  scenes  and  shining  prospects  rise ! 


t-> 


Rt.  Hon.  Joseph  Addison. 


Poetic  fields  encompass  me  around  ; 
And  still  I  seem  to  tread  on  classic  grround! 
For  here,  the  Muse  so  oft  her  harp  has  strung, 
That  not  a  mountain  rears  its  head  unsunor ! 
Renowned  in  Verse  each  shady  thicket  grows, 
And  ev'ry  stream  in  heavenly  Numbers  flows  ! 


How  am  I  pleased  to  search  the  hills  and  woods 
For  rising  springs  and  celebrated  floods  ! 
To  view  the  Xar,  tumultuous  in  his  course; 
And  trace  the  smooth  Clitumnus  to  his  source  ! 
To  see  the  Mincio  draw^  his  wat'r}-  store 
Through  the  long  windings  of  a  fruitful  shore  ; 
And  hoary  Albula's  infected  tide, 
O'er  the  warm  bed  of  smoking  sulphur  glide ! 

Fired  with  a  thousand  raptures.   I  survey 
Eridanus  through  flow'ry^  meadows  stray! 
The  King  of  Floods!   that,  rolling  o'er  the  plains. 
The  tow'ring  Alps  of  half  their  moisture  drains  : 
And,  proudly  swollen  with  a  whole  Winter's  snows, 
Distributes  wealth  and  plenty  where  he  flows ! 

Sometimes,  misguided  by  the  tuneful  throng. 
I  look  for  streams  immortalized  in  Sone, 
That  lost  in  silence  and  oblivion  lie 
(Dumb  are  their  fountains,  and  their  channels  dr)) : 
Yet  run  for  ever,  by  the  Muses'  skill ; 
And  in  the  smooth  description  murmur  still! 

39 


Rf.  Hon.  yoscph  Addiso7i. 


Sometimes,  to  gentle  Tiber  I  retire, 
And  the  famed  river's  empty  shores  admire ; 
That,  destitute  of  strength,  derives  its  course 
From  thrifty  urns  and  an  unfruitful  source  : 
Yet,  sung  so  often  in  poetic  Lays, 
With  scorn  the  Danube  and  the  Nile  surveys  ! 
So  high  the  deathless  Muse  exalts  her  theme ! 

Such  was  the  Boyne  !    a  poor  inglorious  stream 
That  in  Hibernian  vales  obscurely  strayed, 
And  unobserved  in  wild  meanders  played, 
Till  \)y  your  lines  and  Nassau's  sword  renowned, 
Its  rising  billows  through  the  World  resound, 
Where'er  the  Hero's  Godlike  acts  can  pierce; 
Or  where  the  fame  of  an  immortal  Verse ! 

O,  could  the  Muse,  my  ravished  breast  inspire 
With  warmth  like  yours,  and  raise  an  equal  fire ; 
Unnumbered  beauties  in  my  Verse  should  shine, 
And  Virgil's  Italy  should  yield  to  mine ! 

See,  how  the  golden  groves  around  me  smile ! 
That  shun  the  coast  of  Britain's  stormy  isle  : 
Or,  when  transplanted  and  preserved  with  care, 
Curse  the  cold  clime ;    and  starve  in  northern  air ! 
Here,  kindly  warmth  their  mounting  juice  ferments 
To  nobler  tastes,  and  more  exalted  scents ! 
Ev'n  the  rough  rocks  with  tender  myrtle  bloom ; 
And  trodden  weeds  send  out  a  rich  perfume ! 

Bear  me,  some  God!    to  Baja's  gentle  seats; 
Or  cover  me  in  Umbria's  green  retreats ! 

40 


Rt.  Hon.  Joseph  Addison. 


Where  western  gales  eternally  reside, 
And  all  the  Seasons  lavish  all  their  pride. 
Blossoms,  and  fruits,  and  flowers  together  rise ; 
And  the  whole  year,  in  gay  confusion  lies! 

Immortal  glories  in  my  mind  revive, 
And  in  my  soul  a  thousand  Passions  strive, 
When  Rome's  exalted  beauties  I  descry 
Magnificent  in  piles  of  ruin  lie. 
An  Amphitheatre's  amazing  height 
Here  fills  my  eye  with  terror  and  delight ! 
That,  on  its  Public  Shows,  unpeopled  Rome; 
And  held  uncrowded  nations  in  its  womb! 
Here,  pillars  rough  with  sculpture  pierce  the  skies; 
And  here,  the  proud  Triumphal  Arches  rise  : 
Where  the  old  Romans'  deathless  acts  displayed, 
Their  base  degenerate  progeny  upbraid ! 
Whole  rivers  here,  forsake  the  fields  below ; 
And,  wond'ring  at  their  height,  through  airy  channels 
flow! 

Still  to  new  scenes  my  wand'ring  Muse  retires, 
And  the  dumb  show  of  breathing  rocks  admires  : 
Where  the  smooth  chisel  all  its  force  has  shown, 
And  softened  into  flesh  the  rugged  stone ! 
In  solemn  silence,  a  majestic  band, 
Heroes,  and  Gods,  and  Roman  Consuls,  stand. 
Stern  tyrants,  whom  their  cruelties  renown. 
And  Emperors,  in  Parian  marble  frown ; 

41 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison. 


While  the  bright  Dames,  to  whom  they  humbly  sued, 
Still  show  the  charms  that  their  proud  hearts  subdued. 

Fain  would  I   Raphael's  Godlike  art  rehearse ; 
And  show  th'  immortal  labours  in  my  Verse ! 
Where,  from  the  mingled  strength  of  shade  and  light, 
A  new  creation  rises  to  my  sight ! 
Such  heavenly  figures  from  his  pencil  flow, 
So  warm  with  life  his  blended  colours  glow, 
From  theme  to  theme  with  secret  pleasure  tost, 
Amidst  the  soft  variety  I'm  lost! 

Here,  pleasing  Airs  my  ravished  soul  confound 
With  circling  notes  and  labyrinths  of  sound ! 

Here,  Domes  and  Temples  rise  in  distant  views ; 

And  opening  Palaces  invite  my  Muse  ! 

How  has  kind  Heaven  adorned  the  happy  land; 
And  scattered  blessings  with  a  wasteful  hand! 
But  what  avail  her  unexhausted  stores, 
Her  blooming  mountains,  and  her  sunny  shores ; 
With  all  the  gifts  that  Heaven  and  Earth  impart, 
The  smiles  of  Nature,  and  the  charms  of  Art ; 
While  proud  Oppression  in  her  valleys  reigns, 
And  Tyranny  usurps  her  happy  plains  ? 

The  poor  inhabitant  beholds  in  vain 
The  redd'ning  orange  and  the  swelling  grain ; 
Joyless  he  sees  the  growing  oils  and  wines. 
And  in  the  myrtle's  fragrant  shade  repines; 
Starves  in  the  midst  of  Nature's  bounty  curst. 
And  in  the  loaden  vineyard  dies  for  thirst! 
42 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison. 


O,  Liberty  !    thou  Goddess  heavenly  bright ! 
Profuse  of  bliss,  and  pregnant  with  delight ! 
Eternal  pleasures  in  thy  presence  reign ; 
And  smiling  Plenty  leads  thy  wanton  Train  ! 
Eased  of  her  load,  Subjection  grows  more  light; 
And  Poverty  looks  cheerful  in  thy  sight! 
Thou  mak'st  the  gloomy  face  of  Nature  gay; 
Giv'st  beauty  to  the  sun,  and  pleasure  to  the  day ! 

Thee,  Goddess !    Thee,  Britannia's  Isle  adores  ! 
How  has  she  oft  exhausted  all  her  stores! 
How  oft,  in  Fields  of  Death,  thy  presence  sought ; 
Nor  thinks  the  mighty  prize  too  dearly  bought ! 

On  foreign  mountains  may  the  sun  refine 
The  grape's  soft  juice,  and  mellow  it  to  wine ! 
With  citron  groves  adorn  a  distant  soil ; 
And  the  fat  olive  swell  with  floods  of  oil  I 

We  envy  not  the  warmer  clime  that  lies 
In  ten  degrees  of  more  indulgent  skies ; 
Nor  at  the  coarseness  of  our  heaven  repine, 
Though  o'er  our  heads  the  frozen  Pleiads  shine  : 
'Tis  Liberty  that  crowns  Britannia's  Isle, 
And  makes  her  barren  rocks  and  her  bleak  mountains 
smile ! 

Others  with  tow'ring  Piles  may  please  the  sight ; 
And  in  their  proud  aspiring  Domes  delight! 
A  nicer  touch  to  the  stretched  canvas  give ; 
Or  teach  their  animated  rocks  to  live ! 

43 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison. 


'Tis  Britain's  care  to  watch  o'er  Europe's  fate ; 
And  hold  in  balance  each  contending  State  ! 
To  threaten  bold  presumptuous  Kings  with  war ; 
And  answer  her  afflicted  neighbours'  prayer ! 
The  Dane  and  Swede,  roused  up  by  fierce  alarms, 
Bless  the  wise  conduct  of  her  pious  Arms ! 
Soon  as  her  Fleets  appear,  their  terrors  cease ; 
And  all  the  Northern  World  lies  hushed  in  peace ! 

Th'  ambitious  Gaul  beholds,  with  secret  dread, 
Her  thunder  aimed  at  his  aspiring  head ; 
And  fain  her  Godlike  sons  would  disunite 
By  foreign  gold,  or  by  domestic  spite  : 
But  strives  in  vain  to  conquer,  or  divide  ; 
Whom  Nassau's  Arms  defend,  and  counsels  guide ! 

Fired  with  the  name,  while  I  so  oft  have  found 
The  distant  climes  and  different  tongues  resound, 
I  bridle  in  my  struggling  Muse  with  pain ! 
That  longs  to  launch  into  a  bolder  strain. 

But  I've  already  troubled  you  too  long  ; 
Nor  dare  attempt  a  more  advent'rous  Song; 
My  humble  Verse  demands  a  softer  theme, 
A  painted  meadow,  or  a  purling  stream  ! 
Unfit  for  Heroes !   whom  immortal  Lays, 
And  lines  like  Virgil's,  or  like  yours,  should  praise ! 


44 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison. 


SONGS  FROM  'ROSAMOND! 

Beneath  some  hoary  mountain, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  weep! 
Or  near  some  warbling  fountain, 

Bewail  myself  asleep! 
Where  feathered  quires  combining 

With  gentle  murmuring  streams, 
And  winds  in  consort  joining, 

Raise  sadly-pleasing  dreams. 


O,  THE  pleasing,  pleasing  anguish ! 
When  we  love,  and  when  we  languish  ! 

Wishes  rising! 

Thoughts  surprising! 

Pleasure  courting ! 

Charms  transporting! 

Fancy  viewing 

Joys  ensuing ! 
O,  the  pleasing,  pleasing  anguish  ! 


If  'tis  joy  to  wound  a  Lover, 

How  much  more  to  give  him  ease ! 
When  his  Passion  we  discover, 
O,  how  pleasing  'tis  to  please! 

The  bliss  returns ;    and  we  receive 
Transports  greater  than  we  give ! 

45 


Alexander  Pope. 


PROLOGUE 
TO  ADDISON'S  TRAGEDY  OF  '  CATO: 

1713. 

To  wake  the  Soul,  by  tender  strokes  of  Art! 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart! 
To  make  Mankind,  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  scene,  and  Be  what  they  behold! 
For  this,  the  Tragic  Muse  first  trod  the  Stage, 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  every  Age. 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept ; 
And  foes  to  Virtue  wondered  how  they  wept ! 

Our  Author  shuns,  by  vulgar  springs,  to  move 
The  Hero's  glory,  or  the  Virgin's  love ! 
In  pitying  Love,  we  but  our  weakness  show  ; 
And  wild  Ambition  well  deserves  its  woe ! 

Here,  tears  shall  flow  from  a  more  gen'rous  cause ; 
Such  tears  as  Patriots  shed  for  dying  Laws! 
He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardour  rise; 
And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes! 
Virtue  confessed  in  human  shape  he  draws ; 
What  Plato  thought,   and  Godlike  Cato  was ! 
No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays  ; 
But  what,  with  pleasure  Heaven  itself  surveys: 
46 


Alexander  Pope. 


A  brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  Fate  ; 

And  greatly  falling,  with  a  falling  State! 

While  Cato  gives  his  little  Senate  laws; 

What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country's  cause! 

Who  sees  him  act ;   but  envies  every  deed ! 

Who  hears  him  groan  ;    and  does  not  wish  to  bleed ! 

Even  when  proud  C^sar,  'midst  triumphal  cars, 
The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars. 
Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 
Showed  Rome,  her  Cato's  figure  drawn  in  State ; 
As  her  dead  Father's  reverend  image  past, 
The  pomp  was  darkened,  and  the  day  o'ercast! 
The  Triumph  ceased  !     Tears  gushed  from  every  eye  ! 
The  World's  great  Victor  passed  unheeded  by! 
Her  last  good  man,  dejected  Rome  adored; 
And  honoured  Cesar's,  less  than  Cato's,  sword! 

Britons,  attend !     Be  worth  like  this  approved ; 
And  shew  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  moved ! 
With  honest  scorn,  the  first  famed  Cato  viewed 
Rome  learning  arts  from  Greece;  whom  she  subdued. 
Our  Scene  precariously  subsists  too  long 
On  French  Translation,  and  Italian  Song! 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves !     Assert  the  Stage ! 
Be  justly  warmed  with  your  own  native  rao-e ! 
Such  Plays  alone  should  please  a  British  ear, 
As  Cato's  self  had  not  disdained  to  hear. 


47 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison. 


THE  SOULOQUY  OF  CATO. 

Cato,  solus,  sitting  in  a  thoughtftd  posture.  In  his 
hand,  Plato  s  book  on  The  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 
A  drawn  sword  on  a  table  by  him. 

It  must  be  so !     Plato,  thou  reason'st  well ! 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 
This  longing  after  Immortality ! 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inward  horror 
Of  falling  into  nought !    Why  shrinks  the  Soul 
Back  on  herself;  and  startles  at  destruction? 
'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us! 
'Tis  Heaven  itself,  that  points  out  an  Hereafter ; 
And  intimates  Eternity  to  Man ! 

Eternity !   thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought ! 
Through  what  variety  of  untried   Being, 
Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes,  must  we  pass ! 
The  wide,  th'  unbounded,  prospect  lies  before  me; 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it! 

Here,  will  I  hold!    If  there  's  a  Power  above  us 
(And  that  there  is,  all  Nature  cries  aloud 
48 


Rt.  Hon.  yoseph  Addison, 

Through  all  her  works !),  he  must  delight  in  virtue  ! 
And  that  which  he  delights  in,   must  be  happy ! 
But   when  ?    or  where  ?    This  world   was    made   for 

C^SAR  ! 

I'm  weary  of  conjectures !    This  must  end  them ! 

\Laying  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

Thus  am  I  doubly  armed!     My  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote,  are  both  before  me! 
This,  in  a  moment,  brings  me  to  an  end; 
But  this  informs  me,   I  shall  never  die! 
The  Soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point! 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nature  sink  in  years: 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth  ; 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  Elements, 
The  wrecks  of  Matter,  and  the  crush  of  Worlds ! 

What  means  this  heaviness,  that  hangs  upon  me  ? 
This  lethargy,  that  creeps  through  all  my  senses? 
Nature,  oppressed  and  harassed  out  with  care, 
Sinks  down  to  rest.     This  once,   I'll  favour  her! 
That  my  awakened  Soul  may  take  her  flight. 
Renewed  in  all  her  strength,  and  fresh  with  life, 
An  off'ring  fit  for  Heaven!    Let  guilt,  or  fear, 
Disturb  Man's  rest :    Cato  knows  neither  of  them ! 
Indiffrent  in  his  choice,  to  sleep,  or  die. 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII. 


49 


Mary,  Lady  Chiidleigh. 


Why,  Damon  !    why,  why,  why  so  pressing  ? 
The  heart  you  beg  's  not  worth  possessing! 
Each  look,  each  word,  each  smile,  's  affected ; 
And  inward  charms  are  quite  neglected ! 
Then  scorn  her !   scorn  her !    foolish  Swain ; 
And  sigh  no  more,  no  more  in  vain! 

Beauty  's  worthless!    fading!    flying! 
Who  would,  for  trifles,  think  of  dying  ? 
Who,  for  a  face,  a  shape,  would  languish  ; 
And  tell  the  brooks  and  groves  his  anguish, 
Till  She,  till  She  thinks  fit  to  prize  him ; 
And  all,  and  all  beside,  despise  him  ? 

Fix,  fix  your  thoughts  on  what  's  inviting  I 
On  what  will  never  bear  the  slighting ! 
Wit  and  Virtue  claim  your  duty ! 
They're  much  more  worth  than  Gold  and  Beauty 
To  them,  to  them,  your  heart  resign; 
And  you'll  no  more,  no  more  repine! 


When  Daphne  first  her  Shepherd  saw ; 

A  sudden  trembling  seized  her! 
Honour,  her  wond'ring  looks  did  awe; 

She  durst  not  view  what  pleased  her! 
50 


Mary,  Lady  Chtidleigh, 


When,  at  her  feet,  he  sighing  lay. 
She  found  her  heart  complying ; 

Yet  would  not  to  her  love  give  way, 
To  save  her  Swain  from  dying ! 

The  little  God  stood  laughing  by, 
To  see  her  dext'rous  feigning. 

He  bid  the  blushing  Fair  comply! 
The  Shepherd  leave  complaining! 


Damon.       Cease,  fair  Calistris  !   cease  disdaining  I 
'Tis  time  to  leave  that  useless  art  I 
Your  Shepherd  's  weary  of  complaining! 
Be  kind;   or  he'll  resume  his  heart! 

Calistris.  Damon,  be  gone  !   I  hate  complying  ! 

Go,  court  some  fond,  believing  Maid ! 
I  take  more  pleasure  in  denying, 

Than  in  the  conquests  I  have  made  I 

Damon.      Why,  cruel  Nymph  !  why,  why  so  slighting  ? 
Is  this  the  treatment  I  must  have .? 
Were  not  your  beauty  so  inviting, 
I  would  no  longer  be  your  slave! 

Calistris.  Damon,  be  gone  !   I  hate  complying  / 

Your  heart  's  not  worth  the  having ! 
Were  there  ten  thousand  Shepherds  dying ; 
Not  one  were  worth  the  saving  I 

E  2  51 


IVilliam  Walsh. 


Of  all  the  torments,  all  the  cares, 

With  which  our  lives  are  curst ; 
Of  all  the  plagues  a  Lover  bears, 

Sure,  Rivals  are  the  worst! 
By  partners,  in  each  other  kind. 

Afflictions  easier  grow! 
In  Love  alone,  we  hate  to  find 

Companions  of  our  woe ! 

Sylvia  !   for  all  the  pangs  you  see 

Are  lab'ring  in  my  breast, 
I  beg  not  you  would  favour  me; 

Would  you  but  slight  the  rest! 
How  great  soe'er  your  rigours  are; 

With  them  alone,  I'll  cope! 
I  can  endure  my  own  despair; 

But  not  another's  hope! 


THE  DESPAIRING  LOVER. 

Distracted  with  care 

For  Phillis  the  fair, 

Since  nothing  could  move  her, 
Poor  Damon,  her  Lover, 

Resolves,  in  despair. 
No  longer  to  languish, 
Nor  bear  so  much  anguish  I 
52 


William  Walsh. 


But,  mad  with  his  love, 

To  a  precipice  goes ; 
Where  a  leap  from  above 

Would  soon  finish  his  woes ! 

When,  in  rage,  he  came  there, 

Beholding  how  steep 
The  sides  did  appear, 

And  the  bottom  how  deep ! 
His  torments  projecting, 
And  sadly  reflecting 
That  a  Lover  forsaken, 

A  new  Love  may  get ; 
But  a  neck,  when  once  broken, 

Can  never  be  set! 
And  that  he  could  die 

Whenever  he  would ; 
But  that  he  could  live 

But  as  long  as  he  could ! 
How  grievous  soever 

The  torment  might  grow ; 
He  scorned  to  endeavour 

To  finish  it  so ! 

But  bold,  unconcerned 
At  thoughts  of  the  pain, 

He  calmly  returned 
To  his  cottage  again. 


53 


JVilliam  Walsh. 


'  Cupid  !    instruct  an  am'rous  Swain, 
Some  way  to  tell  the  Nymph  his  pain, 

To  common  Youths  unknown ! 
To  talk  of  Sighs,  of  Flames,  and  Darts, 
Of  bleeding  Wounds,  and  burning  Hearts, 

Are  methods  vulgar  grown ! ' 

'  What  need'st  thou  tell  ? '  the  God  replied, 
'That  love  the  Shepherd  cannot  hide. 

The  Nymph  will  quickly  find ! 
When  Phcebus  does  his  beams  display 
To  tell  men  gravely  "That  'tis  day!" 

Is  to  suppose  them  blind ! ' 


PHILLIS'S  RESOLUTION, 

'When  Slaves  their  liberty  require. 

They  hope  no  more  to  gain ! 
But  you,  not  only  that  require ; 

But  ask  the  power  to  reign! 

*  Think  how  unjust  a  suit  you  make ; 

Then  you  will  soon  decline! 
Your  freedom,  when  you  please,  pray,  take ; 
But  trespass  not  on  mine ! 

*  No  more,  in  vain,  Alcander  !    crave ! 

I  ne'er  will  grant  the  thing! 
That  he,  who  once  has  been  my  Slave, 
Should  ever  be  my  King ! ' 

54        .  


John  Glanvill. 


IP  HIS  AND  I  A  NTH E. 

Ianthe  the  lovely,  the  joy  of  her  Swain, 
By  Iphis  was  loved ;    and  loved  Iphis  again  ! 
She  lived  in  the  Youth ;  and  the  Youth,  in  the  Fair ! 
Their  pleasure  was  equal,  and  equal  their  care! 
No  time,  no  enjoyment,  the  dotage  withdrew ; 
But  the  longer  they  loved,  still  the  fonder  they  grew ! 


A  Passion  so  happy  alarmed  all  the  plain. 
Some  envied  the  Nymph;  but  more  envied  the  Swain! 
Some  swore,  'Twould  be  pity,  their  loves  to  invade  ; 
That  the  Lovers  alone  for  each  other  were  made! 
But  all,  all,  consented,  That  none  ever  knew 
A  Nymph  yet  so  kind  ;   or  a  Shepherd  so  true ! 


Love  saw  them  with  pleasure;  and  vowed  to  take 

care 
Of  the  faithful,  the  tender,  the  innocent  pair! 
What  either  did  want,  he  bid  either  to  move; 
But  they  wanted  nothing  but  ever  to  love ! 
Said,    'Twas   all    that   to    bless    them,    his    Godhead 

could  do, 
If  they  still  might  be  kind,  and  they  still  might  be  true ! 

55 


William  Congreve. 


TO  A  CANDLE. 

Thou  watchful  Taper,  by  whose  silent  light 
I  lonely  pass  the  melancholy  night ! 
Thou  faithful  witness  of  my  secret  pain ; 
To  whom  alone  I  venture  to  complain ! 
O,  learn  with  me,  my  hopeless  love  to  moan! 
Commiserate  a  life  so  like  thy  own ! 

Like  thine,  my  flames  to  my  destruction  turn ; 
Wasting  that  heart,  by  which  supplied  they  burn ! 
Like  thine,  my  joy  and  suffering  they  display ; 
At  once,  are  signs  of  life,  and  symptoms  of  decay ! 

And  as  thy  fearful  flames  the  day  decline. 
And  only,  during  night,  presume  to  shine  ; 
Their  humble  rays  not  daring  to  aspire 
Before  the  sun,  the  fountain  of  their  fire : 
So  mine,  with  conscious  shame  and  equal  awe, 
To  shades  obscure  and  solitude  withdraw ! 
Nor  dare  their  light  before  her  eyes  disclose; 
From  whose  bright  beams  their  Being  first  arose. 


Thus  to  a  ripe,  consenting  Maid, 

Poor,  old,  repenting  Delia  said, 

'  Would  you  long  preserve  your  Lover  ? 

Would  you  still  his  Goddess  reign  ? 
Never  let  him  all  discover! 
Never  let  him  much  obtain! 
56 


William  Congreve. 


*  Men  will  admire,  adore,  and  die  ; 
While,  wishing,  at  your  feet  they  lie! 
But  admitting  their  embraces 

Wakes  them  from  the  golden  dream 
Nothing  's  new,  besides  our  faces! 

Every  woman  is  the  same ! ' 


See  !   see,  she  wakes !    Sabina  wakes ! 

And,  now,  the  sun  begins  to  rise! 
Less  glorious  is  the  Morn  that  breaks 

From  his  bright  beams,  than  her  fair  eyes 

With  light  united,  day  they  give  ; 

But  different  fates,  ere  night  fulfil ! 
How  many,  by  his  warmth,  will  live! 

How  many  will  her  coldness  kill ! 


False  though  She  be  to  me  and  Love; 

I'll  ne'er  pursue  revenge ! 
For  still  the  Charmer  I  approve; 

Though  I  deplore  her  change ! 

In  hours  of  bliss,  we  oft  have  met ; 

They  could  not  always  last ! 
And  though  the  present  I  regret ; 

I'm  grateful  for  the  past ! 

57 


PFiliiam  Congreve. 


SEMELE  TO  JUPITER. 

With  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me 
I  am  Woman,  as  you  made  me! 
Causeless  doubting,  or  despairing; 
Rashly  trusting,  idly  fearing; 

If  obtaining. 

Still  complaining ; 

If  consenting, 

Still  repenting; 

Most  complying. 

When  denying ; 
And  to  be  followed,  only  flyinj 


ig- 


With  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me! 
I  am  Woman,  as  you  made  me! 


I  LOOKED,  and  I  sighed,  and  I  wished  I  could  speak ; 

And  very  fain  would  have  been  at  her: 
But  when  I  strove  most,  my  Passion  to  break ; 

Still  then  I  said  least  of  the  matter! 

I  swore  to  myself,  and  resolved  I  would  try 
Some  way,  my  poor  heart  to  recover ; 

But  that  was  all  vain!    for  I  sooner  could  die, 
Than  live  with  forbearing  to  love  her ! 
58 


IVilliain  Congreve. 


Dear  Ccelia  !  be  kind  then  !   and  since  your  own  eyes 

By  looks  can  command  adoration  ; 
Give  mine  leave  to  talk  too,  and  do  not  despise 

Those  oglings  that  tell  you  my  Passion! 


We'll  look,  and  we'll  love  !  and  though  neither  should 
speak, 

The  pleasure  we'll  still  be  pursuing! 
And  so,  without  words,  I  don't  doubt  we  may  make 

A  very  good  end  of  this  wooing ! 


THE  PETITION. 

'Grant  me,  gentle  Love,'  said  I, 
'  One  dear  blessing  ere  I  die ! 
Long  I've  borne  excess  of  pain ; 
Let  me  now  some  bliss  obtain ! ' 


Thus  to  almighty  Love  I  cried; 
When,  angry,  thus  the  God  replied. 
*  Blessings  greater  none  can  have  1 
Art  thou  not  Amynta's  slave  ? 
Cease,  fond  mortal !   to  implore ; 
For  Love,  Love  himself,  's  no  more ! ' 


59 


William  Congreve. 


A    HUE  AND   CRY 
AFTER    FAIR    AM 0 RET. 


Fair  Amoret  is  gone  astray! 

Pursue  and  seek  her,  ev'ry  Lover ! 
I'll  tell  the  signs,  by  which  you  may 

The  wand'ring  Shepherdess  discover! 


Coquet  and  coy  at  once  her  Air, 

Both  studied;   though  both  seem  neglected! 
Careless  she  is,  with  artful  care; 

Affecting  to  seem  unaffected ! 


With  skill,  her  eyes  dart  ev'ry  glance; 

Yet  change  so  soon,  you'd  ne'er  suspect  them! 
For  she'd  persuade,  they  wound  by  chance; 

Though  certain  aim  and  art  direct  them! 


She  likes  herself;   yet  others  hates 
For  that  which  in  herself  she  prizes! 

And,  while  she  laughs  at  them,  forgets 
She  is  the  thing  that  she  despises! 


60 


Thomas  Ellwood. 


LOVE'S  ORIGINAL, 

Love  is  a  scion  cropped  from  Virtue's  tree, 
And  grafted  in  the  stock  of  Purity; 
Planted  at  first  in  Nature's  choicest  soil, 
Before  the  Fiend  did  Nature's  beauty  spoil : 
But  thence  transplanted  to  a  richer  ground 
Than  can  in  all  Dame  Nature's  realm  be  found; 
Where,  being  well  manured,  it  takes  deep  root 
Downward,  and  branches  upward  forth  doth  shoot. 

The  sap,  which  doth  this  stately  tree  maintain, 
Is  Sympathy  :    which  runs,  as  in  a  vein, 
Through  every  branch  ;    causing  it  first  to  sprout. 
And  ere  awhile,  young  tender  buds  spring  out ! 

Nor  is  it  barren;   but  much  fruit  doth  bear, 
To  taste  most  pleasing,  and  to  sight  most  fair : 
A  sound  substantial  fruit  that  can  endure 
The  sharpest  frost,  and  yet  continue  pure. 
And  that  ye  may  this  fruit  the  more  admire. 
Take  notice,  that  I  call  it  Chaste  Desire ! 


6i 


Captain  Sir  Richard  Steele. 


Why,  lovely  Charmer !    tell  me,  Why 
So  very  kind ;    and  yet  so  shy  ? 
Why  does  that  cold  forbidding  Air 
Give  damps  of  sorrow  and  despair  ? 
Or  why  that  smile,  my  soul  subdue ; 
And  kindle  up  my  flames  anew  ? 

In  vain,  you  strive,  with  all  your  art. 
By  turns,  to  freeze,  and  fire,  my  heart! 
When  I  behold  a  face  so  fair. 
So  sweet  a  look,  so  soft  an  Air ; 
My  ravished  soul  is  charmed  all  o'er! 
I  cannot  love  thee  less,  or  more ! 


Let  not  Love  on  me  bestow 
Soft  distress,  and  tender  woe  I 
I  know  none  but  substantial  blisses, 
Eager  glances,  solid  kisses ! 
I  know  not  what  the  Lovers  feign 
Of  finer  pleasure  mixed  with  pain ! 
Then,  prithee,  give  me,  gentle  Boy ! 
None  of  thy  grief;   but  all  thy  joy! 


While  gentle  Parthenissa  walks. 
And  sweetly  smiles,  and  gaily  talks; 
A  thousand  shafts  around  her  fly! 
A  thousand  Swains,  unheeded,  die! 

63 


Captain  Sir  Richard  Steele. 


If  then,  she  labours  to  be  seen 
With  all  her  killing  Air  and  mien ; 
From  so  much  beauty,  so  much  art, 
What  mortal  can  secure  his  heart! 


777^  DISTRESS  OF  A  LOVE-SICK  MAID. 

From  place  to  place  forlorn  I  go, 
With  downcast  eyes,  a  silent  shade ! 

Forbidden  to  declare  my  woe  ; 
To  speak  till  spoken  to,  afraid! 

My  inward  pangs,  my  secret  grief. 
My  soft  consenting  looks  betray ! 

He  loves;    but  gives  me  no  relief! 
Why  speaks  not  he,  who  may  ? 


Me  Cupid  made  a  happy  slave ; 

A  merry  wretched  man ! 
I  slight  the  Nymphs  I  cannot  have! 

Nor  dote  on  those  I  can! 

This  constant  maxim  still  I  hold, 

To  baffle  all  despair. 
The  absent,  ugly  are  and  old ; 

The  present,  young  and  fair. 


63 


George  Farquhar. 


A  TRIFLING  Song  you  shall  hear ; 

Begun  with  a  trifle  and  ended. 
All  trifling  people,  draw  near  ; 

And  I  shall  be  nobly  attended! 

Were  it  not  for  trifles  a  few, 

That  lately  have  come  into  play; 

The  men  would  want  something  to  do, 
And  the  women  want  something  to  say! 

What  makes  men  trifle  in  dressing  ? 

Because  the  Ladies,  they  know, 
Admire,  by  often  possessing, 

That  eminent  trifle,  a  Beau !  .  .  . 

What  mortal  man  would  be  able 
At  White's  half  an  hour  to  sit, 

Or  who  could  bear  a  tea-table; 
Without  talking  of  trifles  for  wit! 

The  Court  is  from  trifles  secure! 

Gold  Keys  are  no  trifles,  we  see ! 
White  Rods  are  no  trifles,   I'm  sure; 

Whatever  their  bearers  may  be! 

But  if  you  will  go  to  the  place 
Where  trifles  abundantly  breed. 

The  Levee  w^ill  show  you  his  Grace 
Makes  promises  trifles  indeed ! 

64 


George  Farquhar. 


A  coach  with  six  footmen  behind, 

I  count  neither  trifle,  nor  sin  ; 
But,  ye  Gods !    how  oft  do  we  find 

A  scandalous  trifle  within  ! 

A  flask  of  Champagne,   people  think  it 

A  trifle,  or  something  as  bad ; 
But  if  you'll  contrive  how  to  drink  it, 

You'll  find  it  no  trifle,  egad! 

A  Parson  's  a  trifle  at  sea ! 

A  Widow  *s  a  trifle  in  sorrow ! 
A   Peace  is  a  trifle  to-day; 

Who  knows  what  may  happen  to-morrow  ? 

A  Black  Coat,  a  trifle  may  cloak ; 

Or  to  hide  it,  the  Red  may  endeavour ! 
But  if  once  the  Army  is  broke  ; 

We  shall  have  more  trifles  than  ever! 

The  Stage  is  a  trifle,  they  say  ; 

The  reason,  pray  carry  along ! 
Because,  at  ev'ry  new  Play, 

The  House  they  with  trifles  so  throng. 

But  with  people's  malice  to  trifle. 

And  to  set  us  all  on  a  foot ; 
The  Author  of  this  is  a  trifle ; 

And  his  Song  is  a  trifle  to  boot! 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  F  65 


Pierre  Antoine  Mofteux. 


LOVE  AND  FOLLY, 

A  Fable. 

Love  and  Folly  were  at  play, 
Both  too  wanton  to  be  wise. 
They  fell  out ;   and,  in  the  fray, 

Folly  put  out  Cupid's  eyes. 
Straight,  the  criminal  was  tried. 
And  this  punishment  assigned. 
Folly  should  to  Love  be  tied, 
And  condemned  to  lead  the  blind. 
Then,  wisely  let  's  venture  ourselves  to  deceive, 
Since  Fate  has  decreed  us  to  love  and  believe ! 
For  all  we  can  gain,  by  our  wisdom  and  eyes, 
Is  to  find  ourselves  cheated;  and  wretched,  when  wise! 


^ 


Pierre  Antoine  Motietix. 


SECRET  LOVE. 

I  love!   but  She  alone  shall  know; 

Who  is  herself  my  treasure ! 
Vain  Lovers,  when  their  joys  they  show, 

Call  partners  to  their  pleasure ! 
Let  empty  Beaus  the  favour  miss, 

While  they  would  have  it  known ! 
That  Soul  's  too  narrow  for  the  bliss ; 

Who  can't  enjoy  alone! 


Then,  never  let  my  love  be  told 

By  way  of  modern  Toasting! 
The  sweetest  joy,  like  fairy  gold, 

Is  lost  by  selfish  boasting! 
Too  rich  to  shew  what  I  possess, 

My  treasure  I'll  conceal ! 
I  may  my  pains  of  Love  confess ; 

But  ne'er  my  joys  reveal ! 


F  2 


67 


Matthew  Prior. 


LOVE  DISARMED. 

Beneath  a  myrtle's  verdant  shade, 
As  Cloe,  half  asleep,  was  laid, 
Cupid  perched  lightly  on  her  breast, 
And  in  that  heaven  desired  to  rest : 
Over  her  paps,  his  wings  he  spread; 
Between,  he  found  a  downy  bed, 
And  nestled  in  his  little  head. 


Still  lay  the  God.     The  Nymph,  surprised, 
Yet  mistress  of  herself,  devised 
How  she  the  Vagrant  might  inthrall. 
And  captive  him  who  captives  all! 

Her  bodice  half  way  she  unlaced  ; 
About  his  arms  she  slily  cast 
The  silken  bond,  and  held  him  fast. 


The  God  awaked;   and  thrice,  in  vain, 
He  strove  to  break  the  cruel  chain ! 
And  thrice,  in  vain,  he  shook  his  wing, 
Incumbered  in  the  silken  string! 
Flutt'ring,  the  God,  and  weeping,  said, 

*  Pity  poor  Cupid,  generous  Maid ! 
68 


Matthew  Prior. 


Who  happened,  being  bhnd,  to  stray ; 
And  on  thy  bosom  lost  his  way ! 
Who  strayed,  alas !    but  knew  too  well 
He  never  there  must  hope  to  dwell! 
Set  an  unhappy  pris'ner  free ; 
Who  ne'er  intended  harm  to  thee ! ' 


*  To  me  pertains  not/  she  replies, 
*  To  know,  or  care,  where  Cupid  flies ! 
What  are  his  haunts,  or  which  his  way! 
Where  he  would  dwell,  or  whither  stray ! 
Yet  will  I  never  set  thee  free ; 
For  harm  was  meant,  and  meant  to  me ! ' 


*  Vain  fears  that  vex  thy  virgin  heart ! 
I'll  give  thee  up  my  bow  and  dart; 
Untangle  but  this  cruel  chain, 
And  freely  let  me  fly  again!' 


'  Agreed  !    Secure  my  virgin  heart ! 
Instant  give  up  thy  bow  and  dart! 
The  chain  I'll  in  return  untie, 
And  freely  thou  again  shalt  fly ! ' 


Thus  she  the  captive  did  deliver; 
The  captive  thus  gave  up  his  quiver! 

69 


Matthew  Prior. 


The  God  disarmed,  e'er  since  that  day, 
Passes  his  life  in  harmless  play ; 
Flies  round,  or  sits  upon  her  breast, 
A  little,  fiutt'ring,  idle  guest ! 

E'er  since  that  day,  the  beauteous  Maid 
Governs  the  World  in  Cupid's  stead  : 
Directs  his  arrow  as  she  wills ; 
Gives  grief,  or  pleasure  !    spares,  or  kills ! 


In  vain,  you  tell  your  parting  Lover, 
You  wish  fair  winds  may  waft  him  over ! 
Alas !    what  winds  can  happy  prove. 
That  bear  me  far  from  what  I  love  ? 
Alas !   what  dangers  on  the  Main 
Can  equal  those  that  I  sustain 
From  slighted  vows,  and  cold  disdain  ? 


Be  gentle !    and,  in  pity,  choose 
To  wish  the  wildest  tempests  loose ! 
That,  thrown  again  upon  the  coast 
Where  first  my  shipwracked  heart  was  lost, 
I  may,  once  more,  repeat  my  pain ! 
Once  more,  in  dying  notes  complain 
Of  slighted  vows,  and  cold  disdain ! 


70 


Matthew  Prior. 


CUPID  AND   GANYMEDE, 

In  Heaven,  one  holiday,  you  read 
In  wise  Anacreon,  Ganymede 
Drew  heedless  Cupid  in,  to  throw 
A  Main,  to  pass  an  hour  or  so. 
The  little  Trojan,  by  the  way, 
By  Hermes  taught,  played  all  the  play ! 


The  God,  unhappily  engaged, 
By  nature  rash,  by  Play  enraged. 
Complained,  and  sighed,  and  cried,  and  fretted, 
Lost  ev'ry  earthly  thing  he  betted ! 
In  ready  money,  all  the  store 
Picked  up,  long  since,  from  Dane's  Shower  1 
A  Snush-box  set  with  bleeding  hearts, 
Rubies,  all  pierced  with  diamond  darts  ! 
His  Nine-pins,  made  of  myrtle  wood; 
The  tree  in  Ida's  forest  stood ! 
His  Bowl  pure  gold,  the  very  same 
Which  Paris  gave  the  Cyprian  Dame ! 
Two  Table-Books,  in  shagreen  covers, 
Filled  with  good  verse  from  real  Lovers; 
Merchandise  rare!    A  Billet-doux^ 
Its  matter  passionate ;   yet  true ! 
Heaps  of  Hair  Rings,  and  Cyphered  Seals ! 
Rich  trifles  !   serious  bagatelles  ! 

71 


Matthew  Prior, 


What  sad  disorders  Play  begets ! 
Desp'rate  and  mad,  at  length,  he  sets 
Those  darts ;   whose  points  make  Gods  adore 
His  might,  and  deprecate  his  power! 
Those  darts  ;   whence  all  our  joy  and  pain 
Arise !    Those  darts — '  Come,  Seven  'i  the  Main ! ' 
Cries  Ganymede.     The  usual  trick ! 
'  Seven,  slur  a  Six,  Eleven !   A  nick ! ' 

111  news  goes  fast!     'Twas  quickly  known, 
That  simple  Cupid  was  undone ! 

Swifter  than  lightning  Venus  flew ! 
Too  late  she  found  the  thing  too  true! 
Guess  how  the  Goddess  greets  her  son ! 

*  Come  hither.  Sirrah  !     No !   begone  ! 
And,  hark  ye !    is  it  so  indeed  ? 
A  comrade  you,  for  Ganymede! 
An  imp  as  wicked,  for  his  age, 
As  any  earthly  Lady's  Page ! 
A  scandal  and  a  scourge  to  Troy ! 
A  Prince's  son !     A  blackguard  boy ! 
A  sharper  that,  with  box  and  dice, 
Draws  in  young  Deities  to  vice ! 

'All  Heaven  is  by  the  ears  together. 
Since  first  that  little  rogue  came  hither ! 
Juno  herself  has  had  no  peace; 
And,  truly,   I've  been  favoured  less! 
For  Jove,  as  Fame  reports  (but  Fame 
Says  things  not  fit  for  me  to  name !), 

72 


Matthew  Prior. 


Has  acted  ill,  for  such  a  God  ; 
And  taken  ways  extremely  odd ! 

'  And  thou,  unhappy  child  ! '    she  said, 
(Her  anger  by  her  grief  allayed) 
*  Unhappy  child !    who  thus  hast  lost 
All  the  estate  we  e'er  could  boast ! 
Whither  ?    O,  whither  wilt  thou  run ; 
Thy  name  despised,  thy  weakness  known  ? 
Nor  shall  thy  shrine  on  Earth  be  crowned,       \ 
Nor  shall  thy  power  in  Heaven  be  owned;       ^ 
When  thou,  nor  Man,  nor  God,  canst  wound ! '  ) 

Obedient  Cupid,  kneeling,  cried, 
'  Cease,  dearest  Mother !    cease  to  chide ! 
Gany  's  a  Cheat ;    and  I'm  a  Bubble ! 
Yet  why  this  great  excess  of  trouble  ? 
The  dice  were  false !    the  darts  are  gone ! 
Yet  how  are  you,  or  I,  undone  ? 

The  loss  of  these  I  can  supply 
With  keener  darts  from  Cloe's  eye ! 
Fear  not,  we  e'er  can  be  disgraced 
While  that  bright  magazine  shall  last! 
Your  crowded  altars  still  shall  smoke ; 
And  Man,  your  friendly  aid  invoke  ! 
Jove  shall  again  revere  your  power; 
And  rise  a  Swan,  or  fall  a  Shower!* 


73 


Matthew  Prior. 


THE  DESPAIRING  SHEPHERD. 

Alexis  shunned  his  fellow  Swains, 
Their  rural  sports,  and  jovial  strains. 

(Heaven  guard  us  all  from  Cupid's  bow!) 
He  lost  his  crook.     He  left  his  flocks; 
And,  wand'ring  through  the  lonely  rocks, 

He  nourished  endless  woe ! 

The  Nymphs  and  Shepherds  round  him  came: 
His  grief,  some  pity !    others  blame ! 

The  fatal  cause  all  kindly  seek. 
He  mingled  his  concern  with  theirs ; 
He  gave  them  back  their  friendly  tears ; 

He  sighed;   but  would  not  speak! 

Clorinda  came,  among  the  rest ; 
And  she  too  kind  concern  exprest, 

And  asked  the  reason  of  his  woe. 
She  asked :   but  with  an  Air  and  mien 
That  made  it  easily  foreseen, 

She  feared  too  much  to  know. 

The  Shepherd  raised  his  mournful  head, 
'  And  will  you  pardon  me,'  he  said, 

'  While  I,  the  cruel  truth  reveal  ? 
Which  nothing  from  my  breast  should  tear, 
Which  never  should  offend  your  ear, 

But  that  you  bid  me  tell. 
74 


Matthew  Prior. 


"Tis  thus  I  rove,  'tis  thus  complain; 
Since  you  appeared  upon  the  plain ! 

You  are  the  cause  of  all  my  care ! 
Your  eyes,  ten  thousand  dangers  dart ! 
Ten  thousand  torments  vex  my  heart! 

I  love,  and  I  despair ! ' 

*  Too  much,  Alexis  !    I  have  heard ! 
'Tis  what  I  thought !    'tis  what  I  feared ! 

And  yet  I  pardon  you ! '    she  cried, 

*  But  you  must  promise  ne'er  again 

To  breathe  your  vows ;   or  speak  your  pain ! ' 
He  bowed,  obeyed,  and  died! 


A  DUTCH  PROVERB. 

'  Fire,  Water,  Woman,  are  Man's  ruin ! ' 
Says  wise  Professor  Van  der  Bruin. 
By  flames,  a  house  I  hired  was  lost 
Last  year;   and  I  must  pay  the  cost! 
This  Spring,  the  rains  o'erflowed  my  ground ; 
And  my  best  Flanders  mare  was  drowned! 
A  slave  I  am  to  Clara's  eyes ; 
The  gipsy  knows  her  power,  and  flies! 
Fire,  Water,  Woman,  are  my  ruin ; 
And  great  thy  wisdom.  Van  der  Bruin! 


75 


Matthew  Prior. 


rO  A  CHILD  OF  QUALITY,  OF  FIVE  YEARS  OLD; 
THE  AUTHOR  SUPPOSED,  FORTY. 

Lords,  Knights,  and  Squires,  the  num'rous  Band 
That  wear  the  fair  Miss  Mary's  fetters, 

Were  summoned,  by  her  high  command, 
To  show  their  Passion  by  their  Letters. 

My  pen,  amongst  the  rest,  I  took, 

Lest  those  bright  eyes,  that  cannot  read, 

Should  dart  their  kindhng  fires  ;    and  look 
The  power  they  have  to  be  obeyed. 

Nor  Quality,  nor  Reputation, 

Forbid  me  yet  my  flame  to  tell ! 
Dear  Five  Years  Old  befriends  my  Passion! 

And  I  may  write  till  she  can  spell ! 

For,  while  she  makes  her  silk-worms  beds 
With  all  the  tender  things  I  swear ; 

Whilst  all  the  house,  my   Passion  reads, 
In  papers  round  her  baby's  hair; 

She  may  receive,  and  own  my  flame ! 

For,  though  the  strictest  Prudes  should  know  it, 
She'll  pass  for  a  most  virtuous  Dame  ; 

And  I,  for  an  unhappy  Poet! 

76 


Matthew  Prior. 


Then  too,  alas !    when  she  shall  tear 
The  lines  some  younger  Rival  sends, 

She'll  give  me  leave  to  write,  I  fear  ; 
And  we  shall  still  continue  friends! 

For  as  our  diffrent  ages  move, 

'Tis  so  ordained,  (Would  Fate  but  mend  it !) 
That  I  shall  be  past  making  love. 

When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it. 


While  from  our  looks,  fair  Nymph !    you  guess 

The  secret  Passions  of  our  mind, 
'My  heavy  eyes,'  you  say,  'confess 

A  heart  to  Love  and  Grief  inclined ! ' 

There  needs,  alas !    but  little  art 

To  have  this  fatal  secret  found ! 
With  the  same  ease  you  threw  the  dart, 

'Tis  certain,  you  may  show  the  wound! 

How  can  I  see  you,  and  not  love  ? 

While  you,  as  opening  East  are  fair ! 
While  cold  as  northern  blasts  you  prove ; 

How  can  I  love,  and  not  despair  ? 

The  wretch,  in  double  fetters  bound, 

Your  potent  mercy  may  release  ! 
Soon,  if  my  love  by  you  were  crowned, 

Fair  Prophetess !    my  grief  would  cease ! 

77 


Matthew  Prior. 


THE  QUESTION  TO  LI  SETT  A. 

What  Nymph  should  I  admire,  or  trust, 
But  Cloe  beauteous  !     Cloe  just  ? 

What  Nymph  should  I  desire  to  see, 
But  her  who  leaves  the  plain  for  me  ? 

To  whom  should  I  compose  the  Lay, 
But  her  who  listens  when  I  play  ? 

To  whom,  in  Song  repeat  my  cares, 
But  her  who  in  my  sorrow  shares  ? 

For  whom  should   I  the  garland  make, 
But  her  who  joys  the  gift  to  take, 
And  boasts  she  wears  it  for  my  sake  ? 

In  love,  am  I  not  fully  blest  ? 
LiSETTA,  prithee,  tell  the  rest! 


LISETTAS  REPLY. 

Sure,  Cloe  just,  and  Cloe  fair, 
Deserves  to  be  your  only  care ! 
But  (when  you  and  she,  to-day, 
Far  into  the  wood  did  stray; 
And  I  happened  to  pass  by) 
Which  way  did  you  cast  your  eye  ? 

But  when  your  cares  to  her  you  sing; 
You  dare  not  tell  her,  whence  they  spring 
Does  it  not  more  afflict  your  heart. 
That  in  those  cares  she  bears  a  part  ? 
78 


Matthew  Prior. 


When  you  the  flowers  for  Cloe  twine, 
Why  do  you,  to  her  garland  join 
The  meanest  bud  that  falls  from  mine  ? 

Simplest  of  Swains  !     The  World  may  see, 
Whom  Cloe  loves !   and  who  loves  me ! 


CUPID  MISTAKEN. 

As,  after  noon,  one  summer's  day, 

Venus  stood  bathing  in  a  river, 
Cupid,  a  shooting,  went  that  way; 

New  strung  his  bow,  new  filled  his  quiver. 

With  skill,  he  chose  his  sharpest  dart! 

With  all  his  might,  his  bow  he  drew! 
Aimed  at  his  beauteous  parent's  heart; 

With  certain  speed  the  arrow  flew! 

*  I  faint !    I  die !  *   the  Goddess  cried, 
'  O,  cruel !   couldst  thou  find  none  other 

To  wreck  thy  spleen  on  ?     Parricide ! 

Like  Nero,  thou  hast  slain  thy  mother!* 

Poor  Cupid,  sobbing,  scarce  could  speak. 

*  Indeed,  Mamma,  I  did  not  know  ye ! 
Alas !   how  easy  my  mistake  ! 

I  took  you  for  your  likeness,  Cloe  ! ' 


79 


Matthew  Prior. 


The  merchant,  to  secure  his  treasure, 
Conveys  it  in  a  borrowed  name  : 

EuPHELiA  serves  to  grace  my  measure ; 
But  Cloe  is  my  real  flame ! 

My  softest  verse,  my  darling  lyre, 

Upon  Euphelia's  toilet  lay; 
When  Cloe  noted  her  desire 

That  I  should  sing !    that  I  should  play ! 

My  lyre  I  tune,  my  voice  I  raise  ; 

But  with  my  Numbers  mix  my  sighs ! 
And  whilst  I  sing  Euphelia's  praise ; 

I  fix  my  soul  on  Cloe  s  eyes  ! 

Fair  Cloe  blushed  !    Euphelia  frowned  ! 

I  sung  and  gazed !    I  played  and  trembled ! 
And  Venus,  to  the  Loves  around 

Remarked,  '  How  ill  we  all  dissembled ! ' 


If  Wine  and  Music  have  the  power 

To  ease  the  sickness  of  the  soul, 
Let  Phcebus  ev'ry  string  explore  ; 

And  Bacchus  fill  the  sprightly  bowl ! 
Let  them  their  friendly  aid  employ 

To  make  my  Cloe's  absence  light ! 
And  seek  for  pleasure,  to  destroy 

The  sorrows  of  this  life-long  night ! 
80 


Matthew  Prior. 


But  she  to-morrow  will  return  ! 

Venus  !   be  thou  to-morrow  great ! 
Thy  myrtles  strow !    thy  odours  burn  ! 

And  meet  thy  fav'rite  Nymph  in  State  ! 
Kind  Goddess !   to  no  other  Powers 

Let  us  to-morrow's  blessings  own! 
Thy  darling  Loves  shall  guide  the  Hours; 

And  all  the  day  be  thine  alone ! 


IN  IMITATION  OF  A  NACRE  ON. 

Let  them  censure !   what  care  I  ? 
The  herd  of  Critics  I  defy! 
Let  the  wretches  know,   I  write 
Regardless  of  their  grace,  or  spite ! 
No!  No!     The  Fair,  the  Gay,  the  Young, 
Govern  the  Numbers  of  my  Song! 
All  that  they  approve  is  sweet ; 
And  all  is  sense  that  they  repeat! 

Bid  the  warbling  Nine  retire ! 
Venus  !    string  thy  Servant's  lyre  ! 
Love  shall  be  my  endless  theme  ! 
Pleasure  shall  triumph  over  Fame! 

And  when  these  maxims  I  decline; 
Apollo  !   may  thy  fate  be  mine ! 
May  I  grasp  at  empty  praise; 
And  lose  the  Nymph,  to  gain  the  Bays! 


BRIT.   ANTH.    VIII.  G  8l 


Matthew  Prior. 


THE  LADY'S  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Celia  and  I,  the  other  day, 
Walked  o'er  the  sand-hills  to  the  sea. 
The  setting  sun  adorned  the  coast  ; 
His  beams  entire,  his  fierceness  lost : 
And,  on  the  surface  of  the  Deep, 
The  winds  lay  only  not  asleep. 

The  Nymph  did,  like  the  scene  appear. 
Serenely  joyous  !    calmly  fair  ! 
Soft  fell  her  words,  as  flew  the  air! 
With  secret  joy,   I  heard  her  say. 
That  she  would  never  miss  one  day, 
A  walk  so  fine!    a  sight  so  gay! 


But,  O,  the  change  I     The  winds  grow  high ! 
Impending  tempests  charge  the  sky! 
The  lightning  flies,  the  thunder  roars ; 
And  big  waves  lash  the  frightened  shores! 

Struck  with  the  horror  of  the  sight, 
She  turns  her  head,  and  wings  her  flight ; 
And,  trembling,  vows  she'll  ne'er  again 
Approach  the  shore,  or  view  the  Main! 
82 


Matthew  Prior. 


'Once  more,  at  least,  look  back!'   said  I, 
*  Thyself,  in  that  large  Glass  descry ! 
When  thou  art  in  good  humour  drest, 
When  gentle  Reason  rules  thy  breast ; 
The  sun,  upon  the  calmest  sea. 
Appears  not  half  so  bright  as  thee ! 
'Tis  then,  that  with  delight  I  rove 
Upon  the  boundless  Depth  of  Love ! 
I  bless  my  chain,   I  hand  my  oar; 
Nor  think  on  all  I  left  on  shore ! 


'  But  when  vain  doubts  and  groundless  fear 
Do  that  dear  foolish  bosom  tear ; 
When  the  big  lip,  and  wat'ry  eye, 
Tell  me,  the  rising  storm  is  nigh : 
'Tis  then,  thou  art  yon  angry  Main, 
Deformed  by  winds,  and  dashed  by  rain ! 
And  the  poor  sailor  that  must  try 
Its  fury,  labours  less  than  1 1 

'  Shipwrecked,  in  vain  to  land  I  make ! 
While  Love  and  Fate  still  drive  me  back. 
Forced  to  dote  on  thee,  thy  own  way; 
I  chide  thee  first,  and  then  obey! 
Wretched,  when  from  thee  ;    vexed,  when  nigh 
I,  with  thee,  or  without  thee,  die ! 


G  2  83 


Matthew  Prior. 


THE  FEMALE  PHAETON. 

Thus  Kitty,  beautiful  and  young, 

And  wild  as  colt  untamed, 
Bespoke  the  Fair  from  whom  she  sprung; 

With  little  rage  inflamed. 

Inflamed  with  rage  at  sad  restraint 
Which  wise  Mamma  ordained ; 

And  sorely  vexed  to  play  the  Saint, 
While  Wit  and  Beauty  reigned. 

*  Shall  I  thumb  holy  books,  confined 

With  Abigails  forsaken  ? 
Kitty  *s  for  other  things  designed ; 

Or  I  am  much  mistaken  ! 


'Must  Lady  Jenny  frisk  about, 
And  visit  with  her  cousins  ? 

At  Balls,  must  she  make  all  the  rout; 
And  bring  home  hearts  by  dozens  ? 

*  What  has  she  better,  pray,  than  I  ? 

What  hidden  charms  to  boast  ? 
That  all  Mankind  for  her  should  die, 

Whilst  I  am  scarce  a  Toast ! 
84 


Matthew  Prior. 


'  Dear  Mamma !  for  once,  let  me, 
Unchained,  my  fortune  try! 

I'll  have  my  Earl  as  well  as  she, 
Or  know  the  reason  why ! 


'I'll  soon,  with  Jenny's  pride  quit  score! 

Make  all  her  Lovers  fall ! 
They'll  grieve,  I  was  not  loosed  before! 

She,  I  was  loosed  at  all ! ' 


Fondness  prevailed !    Mamma  gave  way ! 

Kitty,  at  heart's  desire. 
Obtained  the  chariot  for  the  day; 

And  set  the  World  on  fire ! 


Reading  ends  in  melancholy! 

Wine  breeds  vices  and  diseases ! 
Wealth  's  but  a  care,  and  Love  but  folly; 

Only  Friendship  truly  pleases ! 
My  wealth,  my  books,  my  flask,  my  Molly, 

Farewell  all,  if  Friendship  ceases! 


85 


Matthew  Prior. 


CLOE  HUNTING. 

Behind  her  neck  her  comely  tresses  tied, 
Her  ivory  quiver  graceful  by  her  side  ; 
A  hunting  Cloe  went !     She  lost  her  way ; 
And  through  the  woods,  uncertain,  chanced  to  stray. 

Apollo,  passing  by,  beheld  the  Maid, 
And,  '  Sister  dear,  bright  Cynthia  !    turn ! '   he  said, 
'  The  hunted  hind  lies  close  in  yonder  brake ! ' 

Loud  Cupid  laughed,  to  see  the  God's  mistake ; 
And  laughing,  cried,  '  Learn  better,  great  Divine ! 
To  know  thy  kindred ;    and  to  honour  mine ! 
Rightly  advised,  far  hence  thy  Sister  seek, 
Or  on  Meander's  banks,  or  Latmus'  peak! 
But  in  this  Nymph,  my  friend !    my  Sister  know ! 
She  draws  my  arrows,  and  she  bends  my  bow! 
Fair  Thames,  she  haunts,  and  ev'ry  neighb'ring  grove 
Sacred  to  soft  recess  and  gentle  love  ! 

'  Go,  with  thy  Cynthia  !    hurl  the  pointed  spear 
At  the  rough  boar ;    or  chase  the  flying  deer  I 
I  and  my  Cloe  take  a  nobler  aim  ! 
At  human  hearts  we  fling ;  nor  ever  miss  the  game  I ' 


THE   GARLAND. 

The  pride  of  ev'ry  grove  I  chose, 
The  Violet  sweet,  and  Lily  fair, 

The  dappled  Pink,  and  blushing  Rose, 
To  deck  my  charming  Cloe's  hair. 
86 


Matthew  Prior. 


At  Morn,  the  Nymph  vouchsafed  to  place 
Upon  her  brow  the  various  wreath  ; 

The  flowers  less  blooming  than  her  face ! 
The  scent  less  fragrant  than  her  breath  . 


The  flowers  she  wore  along  the  Day ; 

And  every   Nymph  and  Shepherd  said, 
That,  in  her  hair,  they  looked  more  gay 

Than  glowing  in  their  native  bed! 


Undressed  at  Evening,  when  she  found 
Their  odours  lost,  their  colours  past, 

She  changed  her  look  ;    and  on  the  ground, 
Her  garland  and  her  eye  she  cast. 


That  eye  dropped  sense  distinct  and  clear, 
As  any  Muse's  tongue  could  speak; 

When  from  its  lid,  a  pearly  tear 

Ran  trickling  down  her  beauteous  cheek. 


Dissembling  what  I  knew  too  well, 
'My  Love!    my  life!'    said   I,   'explain 

This  change  of  humour !     Prithee,  tell ! 
That  falling  tear — what  does  it  mean  ? ' 

87 


Matthew  Prior, 


She  siehed !    she  smiled !    and  to  the  flowers 
Pointing,  the  lovely  Moralist  said, 

'  See,  friend !    in  some  few  fleeting  hours, 
See  yonder,  what  a  change  is  made ! 


*  Ah  !  me !  the  blooming  pride  of  May, 
And  that  of  Beauty,  are  but  one ! 

At  Morn  both  flourish  bright  and  gay; 
Both  fade  at  Evening,  pale,  and  gone! 


'  At  Dawn,  poor  Stella  danced  and  sung ; 

The  am'rous  Youth  around  her  bowed! 
At  Night,  her  fatal  knell  was  rung; 

I  saw,  and  kissed,  her  in  her  shroud! 


'  Such  as  she  is,  who  died  To-day ; 

Such  I,  alas !    may  be  To-morrow ! 
Go,  Damon!   bid  thy  Muse  display 

The  justice  of  thy  Cloe's  sorrow ! ' 


88 


Matthew  Prior. 


THE  CONVERSATION. 
A   Tale. 

*  It  always  has  been  thought  discreet 
To  know  the  company  you  meet ; 
And,  sure,  there  may  be  secret  danger 
In  talking  much  before  a  stranger!' 

*  Agreed  !   what  then  ? ' 


'  Then,  drink  your  ale  ! 
I'll  pledge  you,  and  repeat  my  Tale! 


'  No  matter  where  the  scene  is  fixed, 
The  persons  were  but  oddly  mixed; 
When  sober  Damon  thus  began 
(And  Damon  is  a  clever  man  I) : 

' "  I  now  grow  old ;   but  still,  from  youth, 
Have  held  for  Modesty  and  Truth ! 
The  men  who,  by  these  sea-marks  steer. 
In  Life's  great  voyage  never  err! 
Upon  this  point,  I  dare  defy 
The  World  !     I  pause  for  a  reply ! " 

89 


Matthew  Prior. 


*  "  Sir  !    either  is  a  orood  assistant !  " 

o 

Said  one  who  sat  a  Httle  distant. 

"  Truth  decks  our  speeches  and  our  books ; 

And  Modesty  adorns  our  looks  : 

But  farther  progress  we  must  take  ! 

Not  only  born  to  Look  and  Speak ; 

The  man  must  Act !    The  Stagyrite 

Says  thus,  and  says  extremely  right : 

'"'Strict  Justice  is  the  sovereign  guide, 
That  o'er  our  action  should  preside ! 
This  Queen  of  Virtues  is  confest 
To  regulate  and  bind  the  rest ! 
Thrice  happy,  if  you  once  can  find 
Her  equal  balance  poise  your  mind  ! 
All  different  graces  soon  will  enter  ; 
Like  lines  concurrent  to  their  centre/" 


'  'Twas  thus,  in  short,  these  two  went  on 
With  "Yea!"   and  "Nay!"  and  Pro  and  Con, 
Through  many  points  divinely  dark, 
And  Waterland  assaulting  Clark, 
Till,  in  Theology  half  lost, 
Damon  took  up  the  Evening  Post, 
Confounded  Spain,  composed  the  North, 
And  deep  in   Politics  held  forth. 


' "  Methinks,  we're  in  the  like  condition 
As  at  the  Treaty  of  Partition ! 
90 


Matthew  Prior. 


That  stroke  (for  all  King  William's  care !) 
Begat  another  tedious  war ! 

'  "  Matthew,  who  knew  the  whole  intrigue, 
Ne'er  much  approved  that  mystic  League ! 
In  the  vile  Utrecht  Treaty  too, 
Poor  man !    he  found  enousfh  to  do ! 
Sometimes,  to  me  he  did  apply  ; 
But  downright  Dunstable  was  I ! 
And  told  him,  where  they  were  mistaken; 
And  counselled  him  to  save  his  bacon ! 

* "  But  (pass  his  politics  and  prose  !) 
I  never  herded  with  his  foes ! 
Nay !    in  his  verses,  as  a  friend, 
I  still  found  something  to  commend ! 
Sir!    I  excused  his  Nut  Brown  Maid; 
Whate'er  severer  critics  said ! 
Too  far,  I  own,  the  Girl  was  tried! 
The  women,  all  were  on  my  side ! 
For  Alma  I  returned  him  thanks  ; 
I  liked  her  with  her  little  pranks ! 
Indeed,  poor  Solomon  in  rhyme. 
Was  much  too  grave  to  be  sublime!" 


'  Pindar  and  Damon  scorn  transition, 
So  on  he  ran  a  new  division ! 
Till,  out  of  breath,  he  turned  to  spit 
(Chance  often  helps  us  more  than  Wit !). 

T'other  that  lucky  moment  took  ; 
Just  nicked  the  time,  broke  in,  and  spoke. 

91 


Matthew  Prior. 


' "  Of  all  the  gifts  the  Gods  afford 
(If  we  may  take  old  Tully's  word!), 
The  greatest  is  a  friend !    whose  love 
Knows  how  to  praise,  and  when  reprove. 
From  such  a  treasure  never  part ; 
But  hang  the  jewel  on  your  heart ! 

"'And,  pray,  Sir!    (it  delights  me  I)  tell, 
You  know  this  Author  mighty  well  ? " 


' "  Know  him  I    D'ye  question  it  ?    Ods-flsh  I 
Sir  !    Does  a  beggar  know  his  dish  ? 
I  loved  him !      As  I  told  you,  I 
Advised  him  !  "     Here,  a  stander-by 
Twitched  Damon  gently  by  the  cloak ; 
And  thus  unwilling  silence  broke : 

'  "  Damon  I    'tis  time  we  should  retire  I 
The  man  you  talk  with  is  Mat.  Prior! 


» > 


Patron  through  life  ;  and  from  thy  birth,  my  friend ! 
Dorset  !    to  thee,  this  Fable  let  me  send ! 
With  Damon's  lightness  weigh  thy  solid  worth ; 
The  Foil  is  known  to  set  the  Diamond  forth ! 
Let  the  feigned  Tale  this  real  Moral  give! 
How  many  Damons,  how  few  Dorsets,  live ! 


92 


yohn  Philips. 


What  !    put  off  with  one  denial ! 
And  not  make  a  second  trial ! 
You  might  see  my  eyes  consenting! 
All  about  me  was  relenting ! 
Women,  obliged  to  dwell  in  forms, 
Forgive  the  Youth  who  boldly  storms! 


Lovers !    when  you  sigh  and  languish, 
When  you  tell  us  of  your  anguish  ; 
To  the  Nymph,  you'll  be  more  pleasing, 
When  those  sorrows  you  are  ceasing! 
We  love  to  try,  how  far  Men  dare ; 
And  never  wish  the  foe  should  spare ! 


93 


Anonymous. 


THE  SIGH, 

By  a    Lady. 

Gentlest  air,  the  breath  of  Lovers ! 

Vapour  from  a  secret  fire ; 
Which,  by  thee,  itself  discovers, 

Ere  yet  daring  to  aspire. 


Softest  note  of  whispered  anguish ! 

Harmony's  most  subtle  part, 
Striking,  while  thou  seem'st  to  languish, 

Full  upon  the  list'ner's  heart! 


Safest  messenger  of  Passion ! 

Stealing  through  a  crowd  of  spies ; 
Which  constrain  the  outward  fashion, 

Close  the  lips,  and  guard  the  eyes. 


Shapeless  Sigh !    None  e'er  can  show  thee 
Framed  but  to  assault  the  ear; 

Yet,  ere  to  their  cost  they  know  thee, 
Ev  ry  Nymph  may  read  thee — here  ! 


94 


Anonymous. 


THE   ROBBERY. 

Belinda  !  see,  from  yonder  flowers 
The  bee  flies  loaded  to  its  cell ! 

Can  you  perceive  what  it  devours  ? 
Are  they  impaired  in  show,  or  smell  ? 


So,  though  I  robbed  you  of  a  kiss 
Sweeter  than  their  ambrosial  dew; 

Why  are  you  angry  at  my  bliss  ? 
Has  it  at  all  impoverished  you  ? 


'Tis  by  this  cunning  I  contrive, 
In  spite  of  your  unkind  reserve, 

To  keep  my  famished  love  alive ; 
Which  you  inhumanly  would  starve. 


95 


JVilliam  Harrison. 


TO  A    VERY  YOUNG  LADY, 

Florella  !   when  those  eyes  I  see, 
So  innocently  kind  and  free, 
Ever  fixed,  and  fixed  on  me ! 


Say,  Why  should  I  my  time  misspend, 
With  idle  fears  so  long  attend  ; 
And  lose  the  Lover  in  the  Friend  ? 


A  year,  or  two,  I  could  forbear; 
But  that  some  happier  Youth,  I  fear. 
May  gain  thy  heart,  and  triumph  there! 


Then,  dearest  Girl !    with  me  retire ! 
What  Age  should  give,  Love  shall  inspire ! 
And  thou  shalt  ripen  by  my  fire! 


96 


Anonymous. 


LOVE  IN  FETTERS. 

To  Panthea. 

Love,  wearied  with  his  roving  flight, 
Descending  at  th'  approach  of  night, 
Down  to  Panthea's  bosom  fled ; 
And  made  that  Seat  of  Joy  his  bed. 

Gently  her  heaving  bosom  rose, 
And  seemed  to  court  him  to  repose ; 
Nesthng,  he  folds  his  wings,  to  creep 
Between  her  breasts  for  sweeter  sleep. 

Pleased  and  transported  with  the  joy, 
She  laughed  at  the  deluded  Boy; 
And  did  a  stratagem  prepare 
To  keep  the  wanton  pris'ner  there. 

She  took  a  various  coloured  braid, 
Of  purple,  gold,  and  scarlet  made ; 
'Now,  Youngster!'    said  the  cruel  Fair, 
*  You  shall  Panthea's  fetters  wear ! ' 

But  when  surprised,  he  waking  found 
His  shackled  limbs,  and  pinions  bound. 
Sighing,  he  wept;  and  begged,  She'd  please 
To  give  her  captive  a  release ! 

BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  H  97 


Anonymous. 


'  Sly  Youth,'  says  she,  '  would  you  so  soon 
Quit  your  apartments,  and  be  gone ! 
No,  my  dear  Rover!    first  discharge 
Your  quarters,  ere  you're  set  at  large ! ' 

'  Then,  for  a  bribe,'  said  he,  '  to  go. 
My  quiver  take,  and  take  my  bow! 
Nor  can  I  greater  triumphs  boast, 
Than  that  my  Arms  to  you  were  lost ! ' 

And  now  those  shafts  are  his  no  more  ; 
His  bow  and  ensigns  of  his  power! 
Panthea  now  commands  Love's  darts! 
All  eyes  she  charms ;   and  wounds  all  hearts  I 


A    DIALOGUE 
BETWEEN  SURLY  AND  BEAU. 

Surly.   Prithee,  tell  me.  What  a  Beau  is  ? 
Thou  who  art  so  famed  for  one! 

Beau.    He  's  a  person  of  great  prowess! 

By  these  marks  he  may  be  known. 

Though  his  eyebrows  black  as  jet  are, 
Yet  his  wig  is  white  as  snow ! 

Ev'ry  hour  he  writes  some  letter, 
Or  receives  some  billet-doiix\ 
98 


Aitonymoits. 


Well,  or  ill,  he  briskly  dances ; 

And  his  arms  are  never  still 
Casting  about  am'rous  glances, 

Such  as  seldom  fail  to  kill. 


Sits  all  day  among  the  Ladies ; 

Sees  them  paint,  and  sees  them  patch 
In  their  eyes  still  looking  babies, 

Some  rich  heir  in  hope  to  catch. 


Some  French  tune  he  's  ever  humming ; 

ThouQ^h  he  cannot  sing-  one  note! 
Or,  with  Air  and  grace  becoming, 

Gives  ill-scented  snuff  about ! 


Under  his  left  arm  a  bamboo. 
Ribbon  dangling  at  his  sword; 

Tells  you,  all  he  has,  or  can  do ; 
And  whom  last  he  laid  on  board. 


Surly.    If  this  be  your  accomplished  Beau ; 
He  is  the  oddest  fool  I  know! 


H  2  99 


yohn  Byrom,  F.R.S. 


My  time,  O,  ye  Muses !   was  happily  spent, 
When  Phebe  went  with  me  wherever  I  went, 
Ten  thousand  sweet  pleasures  I  felt  in  my  breast, 
Sure,  never  fond  Shepherd  like  Colin  was  blest! 

But  now  she  is  gone,  and  has  left  me  behind  ; 
What  a  marvellous  change  on  a  sudden  I  find ! 
When  things  were  as  fine  as  could  possibly  be, 
I  thought  'twas  the  Spring ;    but,  alas  !    it  was  she ! 


With  such  a  companion,  to  tend  a  few  sheep, 
To  rise  up  and  play,  or  to  lie  down  and  sleep ; 
I  was  so  good-humoured,  so  cheerful  and  gay, 
My  heart  was  as  light  as  a  feather  all  day! 

But  now  I  so  cross  and  so  peevish  am  grown, 
So  strangely  uneasy,  as  never  was  known ! 
My  Fair  One  is  gone,  and  my  joys  are  all  drowned, 
And  my  heart — I  am  sure,  it  weighs  more  than  a  pound! 

ICX) 


yohii  Byrom,  F.R.S. 


The  fountain,  that  wont  to  run  sweetly  along 
And  dance  to  soft  murmurs  the  pebbles  among, 
Thou  know'st,  litde  Cupid  !    if  Phebe  were  there, 
'Twas  Pleasure  to  look  at !    'twas  Music  to  hear ! 

But  now  she  is  absent,  I  walk  by  its  side. 
And  still,  as  it  murmurs,  do  nothing  but  chide ! 
'  Must  you  be  so  cheerful,  while  I  go  in  pain  ? 
Peace  there,  with  your  bubbling;  and  hear  me  complain!' 


My  lambkins,   around  me  would  oftentimes  play. 
And  Phebe  and  I  were  as  joyful  as  they ; 
How  pleasant  their  sporting,  how  happy  their  time, 
When  Spring,  Love,  and  Beauty  were  all  in  their  prime ! 

But  now,  in  their  frolics,  when  by  me  they  pass ; 
I  fling  at  their  fleeces  a  handful  of  grass ! 
*  Be  still  then ! '  I  cry,  '  for  it  makes  me  quite  mad, 
To  see  you  so  merry,  while  I  am  so  sad ! ' 


My  dog  I  was  ever  well  pleased  to  see 
Come  wagging  his  tail  to  my  Fair  One  and  me ; 
And  Phebe  was  pleased  too,  and  to  my  dog  said, 
*  Come  hither,  poor  fellow ! '   and  patted  his  head. 

But  now,  when  he  's  fawning,  I,  with  a  sour  look, 
Cry,  '  Sirrah  ! '  and  give  him  a  blow  with  my  crook : 
And  I'll  give  him  another!    For  why  should  not  Tray 
Be  as  dull  as  his  master,  when  Phebe 's  away? 

lOI 


yohjt  Byrom,  F.R.S. 


When  walking  with  Phebe,  what  sights  have  I  seen! 
How  fair  was  the  flower!  how  fresh  was  the  green! 
What  a  lovely  appearance  the  trees  and  the  shade, 
The  cornfields  and  hedges,  and  every  thing,  made  ! 

But  now  she  has  left  me,  though  all  are  still  there, 
They  none  of  them  now  so  delightful  appear  ! 
'Twas  naught  but  the  magic,  I  find,  of  her  eyes 
Made  so  many  beautiful  prospects  arise  I  » 


Sweet  music  went  with  us  both,  all  the  wood  through, 
The  lark,  linnet,  throstle,  and  nightingale  too. 
Winds  over  us  whispered.     Flocks  by  us  did  bleat ; 
And  chirp  went  the  grasshopper  under  our  feet. 

But  now  she  is  absent,  though  still  they  sing  on, 
The  woods  are  but  lonely !  the  melody  's  gone ! 
Her  voice,  in  the  consort,  as  now  I  have  found, 
Gave  ev'ry  thing  else  its  agreeable  sound. 


Rose !   what  is  become  of  thy  delicate  hue  ? 
And  where  is  the  Violet's  beautiful  blue  ? 
Does  aught  of  its  sweetness  the  blossom  beguile  ? 
That  meadow,  those  Daisies,  why  do  they  not  smile  ? 

Ah !    rivals !    I   see  what  it  was,  that  you  drest 
And  made  yourselves  fine  for!    A  place  in  her  breast' 
You  put  on  your  colours,  to  pleasure  her  eye ; 
To  be  plucked  by  her  hand,  on  her  bosom  to  die ! 

I02 


yohn  Byrom^  F.R.S. 


How  slowly  Time  creeps,  till  my  Phebe  return  ! 
While  amidst  the  soft  Zephyr's  cold  breezes  I  burn. 
Methinks,  if  I  knew  whereabouts  he  would  tread ; 
I  could  breathe  on  his  wings!  and  'twould  melt  down 
the  lead. 

Fly  swifter,  ye  minutes !   bring  hither  my  Dear  ! 
And  rest  so  much  longer  for  't,  when  she  is  here. 
'  Ah  !    Colin  !  old  Time  is  full  of  delay ; 
Nor  will  budge  one  foot  faster,  for  all  thou  canst  say!' 


Will  no  pitying  Power,  that  hears  me  complain, 
Or  cure  my  disquiet,  or  soften  my  pain  ? 
'  To  be  cured,  thou  must,  Colin  !  thy  Passion  remove ; 
But  what  Swain  is  so  silly  to  live  without  love  ? ' 

No,  Deity !    bid  the  dear  Nymph  to  return ! 
For  ne'er  was  poor  Shepherd  so  sadly  forlorn. 
Ah !   what  shall  I  do  ?    I  shall  die  with  despair ! 
Take  heed,  all  ye  Swains !  how  ye  part  with  your  Fair! 


GOD  bless  the  King !    I  mean  the  Faith's  Defender! 
GOD  bless  (No  harm  in  blessing !)   the  Pretender ! 
But  who  Pretender  is,  or  who  is  King — 
GOD  bless  us  all ! — that  's  quite  another  thing ! 


103 


Ambrose  Philips. 


A  HYMN  TO   VENUS. 

*  O,  Venus  !    Beauty  of  the  skies ! 
To  whom  a  thousand  Temples  rise, 
Gaily  false  in  gentle  smiles, 
Full  of  love-perplexing  wiles  ; 
O,  Goddess !    from  my  heart  remove 
The  wasting  cares  and  pangs  of  love ! 

'  If  ever  thou  hast  kindly  heard 
A  Song  in  soft  distress  preferred; 
Propitious  to  my  tuneful  vow, 
O,  gentle  Goddess !   hear  me  now ! 
Descend,  thou  bright,  immortal  guest. 
In  all  thy  radiant  charms  confessed ! 

'  Thou,  once,  didst  leave  almighty  Jove  ; 
And  all  the  golden  roofs  above ! 
The  car  thy  wanton  sparrows  drew, 
Hovering  in  air,  they  lightly  flew  ; 
As  to  my  bower  they  winged  their  way, 
I  saw  their  quiv'ring  pinions  play! 

'  The  birds  dismissed,  while  you  remain. 
Bore  back  their  empty  car  again. 
Then  you,  with  looks  divinely  mild, 
In  ev'ry  heavenly  feature  smiled, 
And  asked,  What  new  complaints  I   made  ? 
And,  Why  I  called  you  to  my  aid  ? 
104 


yl^nbrose  Philips. 


'  What  frenzy  in  my  bosom  raged  ? 
And  by  what  care  to  be  assuaged  ? 
What  gentle  Youth   I  would  allure, 
Whom  in  my  artful  toils  secure  ? 
"  Who  does  thy  tender  heart  subdue  ? 
Tell  me,  my  Sappho  !    tell  me,  Who  ? 


* "  Though  now  he  shuns  thy  longing  arms ; 
He  soon  shall  court  thy  slighted  charms ! 
Though  now  thy  off'rings  he  despise  ; 
He  soon  to  thee  shall  sacrifice ! 
Though  now  he  freeze ;   he  soon  shall  burn, 
And  be  thy  victim  in  his  turn ! " 


*  Celestial  Visitant !    once  more, 
Thy  needful  presence  I  implore ! 
In  pity,  come,  and  ease  my  griefs  ! 
Bring  my  distempered  soul  relief! 
Favour  thy  Suppliant's  hidden  fires ; 
And  give  me  all  my  heart  desires!' 


Blessed  as  th'  immortal  Gods  is  he, 
The  Youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee ; 
And  hears  and  sees  thee,  all  the  while, 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile ! 

105 


Ambrose  Philips. 


'Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast ; 
For,  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  tossed, 
My  breath  was  gone !    my  voice  was  lost 

My  bosom  glowed !     The  subtle  flame 
Ran  quickly  through  all  my  vital  frame ! 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung ! 
My  ears,  with  hollow  murmurs  rung ! 

In  dewy  damps,  my  limbs  were  chilled! 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrilled ! 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play ; 
I  fainted,  sunk,  and  died  away! 


Why  we  love,  and  why  we  hate, 
Is  not  granted  us  to  know! 

Random  Chance,  or  wilful  Fate, 
Guides  the  shaft  from  Cupid's  bow 

If  on  me  Zelinda  frown; 

Madness  'tis  in  me  to  grieve ! 
Since  her  will  is  not  her  own, 

Why  should  I   uneasy  live  ? 

If  I  for  Zelinda  die, 

Deaf  to  poor  Mizella's  cries ; 
Ask  me  not  the  reason  Why  ? 
Seek  the  riddle  in  the  skies ! 
io6  


Ambrose  Philips. 


THE  STRAY  NYMPH, 

Cease  your  music,  gentle  Swains! 
Saw  ye  Delia  cross  the  plains  ? 
Every  thicket,  every  grove, 
Have  I  ranged,  to  find  my  Love! 
A  kid,  a  lamb,  my  flock,  I  give! 
Tell  me  only,  Doth  she  live  ? 

White  her  skin  as  mountain  snow! 
In  her  cheek  the  roses  blow; 
And  her  eye  is  brighter  far 
Than  the  beamy  Morning  Star! 
When  her  ruddy  lip  ye  view, 
'Tis  a  berry  moist  with  dew ! 
And  her  breath — O,  'tis  a  gale 
Passing  o'er  a  fragrant  vale! 
Passing  when  a  friendly  shower 
Freshens  every  herb  and  flower! 
Wide  her  bosom  opens,  gay 
As  the  primrose  dell  in  May! 
Sweet  as  violet  borders  growing 
Over  fountains  ever  flowing ! 
Like  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Do  her  auburn  tresses  twine! 
Glossy  ringlets  all  behind. 
Streaming  buxom  to  the  wind; 
When  along  the  lawn  she  bounds, 
Light  as  hind  before  the  hounds! 

107 


Ambrose  Philips. 


And  the  youthful  ring  she  fires, 
Hopeless  in  their  fond  desires, 
As  her  flitting  feet  advance, 
Wanton  in  the  winding  dance. 

Tell  me,  Shepherds !   have  ye  seen 
My  delight,  my  Love,  my  Queen  ? 


From  White's  and  Will's, 

To  purling  rills, 
The  love-sick  Strephon  flies! 

There,  full  of  woe, 

His  Numbers  flow; 
And  all  in  rhyme  he  dies ! 

The  fair  Coquette, 
With  feigned  regret, 

Invites  him  back  to  Town; 
But  when,  in  tears. 
The  Youth  appears ; 

She  meets  him  with  a  frown ! 

Full  oft  the  Maid, 
This  prank  had  played, 

'Till  angry  Strephon  swore; 
And  what  is  strange, 
Though  loth  to  change. 

Would  never  see  her  more ! 


io8 


Pope  and  Lady  JVinchilsea. 


ALEXANDER   POPE. 

TO    LADY    JVINCHILSEA. 

Occasioned  by  four  verses  in 
'  The  Rape  of  the  Lock.' 

In  vain  you  boast  poetic  names  of  yore ; 
And  cite  those  Sapphos  we  admire  no  more ! 
Fate  doomed  the  fall  of  every  Female  Wit; 
But  doomed  it  then,  when  first  Ardelia  writ ! 

Of  all  examples,  by  the  World  confest, 
I  knew  Ardelia  could  not  quote  the  best! 
Who,  like  her  Mistress  on  Britannia's  throne, 
Fights,  and  subdues,  in  quarrels  not  her  own. 

To  write  their  praise,  you  but,  in  vain,  essay! 
Even  while  you  write,  you  take  that  praise  away 
Light  to  the  stars,  the  sun  does  thus  restore ; 
And  shines  himself,  till  they  are  seen  no  more ! 


LADY  WINCHILSEA. 

ANSWER    TO   THE  FOREGOING   VERSES. 

Disarmed  with  so  genteel  an  Air, 

The  contest  I  give  o'er! 
Yet,  Alexander  !    have  a  care, 

And  shock  the  Sex  no  more ! 

109 


Anne  Finch,   Countess  of  Winchilsea,  &c. 


We  rule  the  World,  our  life's  whole  race! 

Men  but  assume  that  right : 
First,  slaves  to  ev'ry  tempting  face; 

Then,  martyrs  to  our  spite ! 

You,  of  one  Orpheus,  sure,  have  read ! 

Who  would  like  you  have  writ. 
Had  he  in  London  town  been  bred, 

And  polished  too  his  wit. 

But  he,  poor  soul !   thought  all  was  well, 
And  great  should  be  his  fame! 

When  he  had  left  his  Wife  in  Hell; 
And  birds  and  beasts  could  tame. 

Yet  vent'ring  then,  with  scoffing  rhymes, 

The  women  to  incense ; 
Resenting  heroines  of  those  Times 

Soon  punished  his  offence ! 

And  as  the  Hebrus  rolled  his  skull 
And  harp  besmeared  with  blood  ; 

They,  clashing  as  the  waves  grew  full, 
Still  harmonized  the  flood. 

But  you,  our  follies  gently  treat, 

And  spin  so  fine  the  thread  ; 
You  need  not  fear  his  awkward  fate ! 

The  Lock  won't  cost  the  head! 

IJO 


Anne  Finch,  Countess  of  IVinchilsea,  &c. 

Our  admiration  you  command. 

For  all  that  's  gone  before ; 
What  next  we  look  for  at  your  hand, 

Can  only  raise  it  more ! 

Yet  soothe  the  Ladies,  I  advise ! 

(As  me  too,  pride  has  wrought!) 
We're  born  to  wit ;   but  to  be  wise, 

By  admonitions  taught. 


Persuade  me  not,  there  is  a  grace 
Proceeds  from  Silvia's  voice,  or  lute, 

Against  Miranda's  charming  face. 
To  make  her  hold  the  least  dispute! 

Music,  which  tunes  the  Soul  for  Love, 
And  stirs  up  all  our  soft  desires, 

Does  but  the  growing  flame  improve. 
Which  powerful  Beauty  first  inspires. 

Thus,  whilst  with  art  she  plays  and  sings, 

I,  to  Miranda,  standing  by. 
Impute  the  music  of  the  strings ; 

And  all  the  melting  words  apply! 


Ill 


Anne  Finch,  Countess  of  Winchilsea,  &c. 


A  NOCTURNAL  REVERIE. 

In  such  a  night,  when  every  louder  wind 
Is  to  its  distant  cavern  safe  confined, 
And  only  gentle  Zephyr  fans  his  wings ; 
And  lonely  Philomel,  still  waking,  sings, 
Or  from  some  tree  famed  for  the  owl's  delight, 
She,  hollowing  clear,  directs  the  wand'rer  right ; 

In  such  a  night,  when  passing  clouds  give  place, 
Or  thinly  veil  the  heavens'  mysterious  face ; 
When,  in  some  river,  overhung  with  green, 
The  waving  moon  and  trembling  leaves  are  seen ; 
When  freshened  grass  now  bears  itself  upright. 
And  makes  cool  banks  to  pleasing  rest  invite ; 
Whence  spring  the  woodbine  and  the  bramble-rose. 
And  where  the  sleepy  cowslip  sheltered  grows  ; 
While  now  a  paler  hue  the  foxglove  takes. 
Yet  checkers  still  with  red  the  dusky  brakes  ; 

When  scattered  glowworms,  but  in  twilight  fine, 
Shew  trivial  beauties,  watch  their  hour  to  shine ; 
Whilst  Salisb'ry  stands  the  test  of  every  light 
In  perfect  charms,  and  perfect  virtue  bright; 

When  odours,  which  declined  repelling  day, 
Through  temp' rate  air  uninterrupted  stray  ; 

112 


Anne  Finch,  Co2intess  of  Winchilsea,  &c. 

When  darkened  groves  their  softest  shadows  wear, 

And  falling  waters  we  distinctly  hear; 

When  through  the  gloom  more  venerable  shows 

Some  ancient  fabric,  awful  in  repose  ; 

While  sunburnt  hills  their  swarthy  looks  conceal, 

And  swelling  haycocks  thicken  up  the  vale ; 

When  the  loosed  horse  now,  as  his  pasture  leads, 
Comes  slowly  grazing  through  th'  adjoining  meads ; 
Whose  stealing  pace  and  lengthened  shade  we  fear, 
Till  torn-up  forage  in  his  teeth  we  hear ; 
When  nibbling  sheep  at  large  pursue  their  food. 
And  unmolested  kine  re-chew  the  cud ; 
When  curlews  cry  beneath  the  village  walls, 
And  to  her  straggling  brood  the  partridge  calls  ; 
Their  short-lived  Jubilee  the  creatures  keep. 
Which  but  endures  whilst  tyrant  Man  does  sleep ; 

When  a  sedate  content  the  spirit  feels, 
And  no  fierce  light  disturbs,  whilst  it  reveals ; 
But  silent  musings  urge  the  mind  to  seek 
Something  too  high  for  syllables  to  speak ; 
Till  the  free  Soul,  to  a  compos'dness  charmed, 
Finding  the  elements  of  rage  disarmed, 
O'er  all  below  a  solemn  quiet  grown, 
Joys  in  th'  inferior  world,  and  thinks  it  like  her  own : 

In  such  a  night,  let  me  abroad  remain, 
Till  morning  breaks,  and  all  's  confused  again! 
Our  cares,  our  toils,  our  clamours,  are  renewed ; 
Or  pleasures,  seldom  reached,  again  pursued. 


BRIT.    ANTH.    VIII.  I  II3 


Archdeacon   Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


My  days  have  been  so  wondrous  free 

The  Httle  birds,  that  fly 
With  careless  ease  from  tree  to  tree, 

Were  but  as  blessed  as  I ! 

Ask  gliding  waters,  If  a  tear 
Of  mine  increased  their  stream  ? 

Or  ask  the  flying  gales,  If  e'er 
I  lent  a  sigh  to  them  ? 

But  now  my  former  days  retire, 
And  I'm  by  Beauty  caught! 

The  tender  chains  of  sweet  desire 
Are  fixed  upon  my  thought ! 

An  eager  hope  within  my  breast 
Does  ev'ry  doubt  control  ; 

And  charming  Nancy  stands  confest 
The  fav'rite  of  my  soul ! 

Ye  nightingales,  ye  twisting  pines, 
Ye  Swains  that  haunt  the  grove, 

Ye  gentle  echoes,  breezy  winds, 
Ye  close  retreats  of  Love, 

With  all  of  Nature,  all  of  Art, 

Assist  the  dear  design ! 
O,  teach  a  young  unpractised  heart 
To  make  her  ever  mine  ! 
114 


Archdeacon   Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 

The  very  thought  of  Change  I  hate, 

As  much  as  of  Despair ; 
And  hardly  covet  to  be  Great, 

Unless  it  be  for  her! 

'Tis  true,  the  Passion,  in  my  mind, 
Is  mixed  with  soft  distress; 

Yet  while  the  Fair  I  love  is  kind, 
I  cannot  wish  it  less ! 


\ 


'  When  thy  beauty  appears, 

In  its  graces  and  Airs, 
As  bright  as  an  Angel  new  dropped  from  the  sky ; 
At  distance  I  gaze,  and  am  awed  by  my  fears ; 

So  strangely  you  dazzle  my  eye ! 

'  But  when,  without  art. 

Your  kind  thoughts  you  impart; 

When  your  love  runs  in  blushes  through  every  vein  ; 

When  it  darts  from  your  eyes,  when  it  pants  in  your 
heart ; 
Then  I  know  you're  a  Woman  again ! ' 

'  There  's  a  Passion  and  pride 

In  our  Sex,'  She  replied. 
And  thus  (might  I  gratify  both !)  I  would  do ! 
Still  an  Angel  appear  to  each  Lover  beside; 

But  still  be  a  Woman  to  you!' 

I  2  IJ5 


Archdeacon  Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


ANACREONTIC, 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Estcourt's  wine, 

A  noble  meal  bespoke  us; 
And  for  the  guests,  that  were  to  dine, 

Brought  CoMUS,  Love,  and  J  ecus. 


The  God,  near  Cupid  drew  his  chair; 

Near  Comus,  J  ecus  placed : 
Thus  Wine  makes  Love  forget  its  care ; 

And  Mirth  exalts  a  feast. 


The  more  to  please  the  spritely  God! 

Each  sweet  engaging  Grace 
Put  on  some  clothes,  to  come  abroad  ; 

And  took  a  Waiter's  place. 

Then  Cupid  named,  at  every  Glass, 

A  Lady  of  the  sky; 
While  Bacchus  swore,  he'd  drink  the  Lass 

And  had  it  bumper-high. 

Fat  Comus  tossed  his  brimmers  o'er. 

And  always  got  the  most; 
J  ecus  took  care  to  fill  him  more ; 

Whene'er  he  missed  the  Toast. 
ii6 


Archdeacon  Thomas  Pantell,  D.D. 

Then  called,  and  drank  at  every  touch  ; 

He  filled,  and  drank  again! 
And  if  the  Gods  can  take  too  much, 

'Tis  said,  they  did  so  then! 

[Free  jests  run  all  the  table  round. 

And  with  the  wine  conspire 
(While  they,  by  sly  reflection  wound) 

To  set  their  heads  on  fire.] 

Gay  Bacchus,  little  Cupid  stung, 

By  reck'ning  his  deceits ; 
And  Cupid  mocked  his  stammering  tongue, 

With  all  his  stagg'ring  gaits. 

And  J  ecus  drolled  on  Comus'  ways, 

And  tales  without  a  jest ; 
While  Comus  called  his  witty  Plays 

But  waggeries  at  best. 

Such  talk  soon  set  them  all  at  odds  ; 

And,  had  I  Homer's  pen, 
I'd  sing  ye,  How  they  drunk,  like  Gods ; 

And  how  they  fought,  like  men. 

To  part  the  fray,  the  Graces  fly; 

Who  make  them  soon  agree ! 
Nay,  had  the  Furies'  selves  been  nigh, 

They  still  were  three  to  three ! 

117 


Archdeacon  Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 

Bacchus  appeased,  raised  Cupid  up ; 

And  gave  him  back  his  bow ; 
But  kept  some  darts  to  stir  the  cup 

Where  Sack  and  sugar  flow. 

Jocus  took  CoMUs'  rosy  crown, 

And  gaily  wore  the  prize : 
And  thrice,  in  mirth,  he  pushed  him  down, 

As  thrice  he  strove  to  rise. 

Then  Cupid  sought  the  myrtle  grove, 

Where  Venus  did  recline; 
And,  Venus  close  embracing  Love, 

They  joined  to  rail  at  Wine. 

And  CoMUS,  loudly  cursing  Wit, 

Rolled  off  to  some  retreat, 
Where  boon  companions  gravely  sit 

In  fat  unwieldy  State. 

Bacchus  and  Jocus  still  behind, 

For  one  fresh  Glass  prepare! 
They  kiss,  and  are  exceeding  kind ; 

And  vow  to  be  sincere. 

But  part  in  time  (whoever  hear 

This  our  instructive  Song !) ; 
For  though  such  friendships  may  be  dear, 

They  can't  continue  long! 


ii8 


Archdeacon   Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


Thyrsis,  a  young  and  am'rous  Swain, 
Saw  two,  the  Beauties  of  the  plain ; 

Who  both  his  heart  subdue. 
Gay  Ccelia's  eyes  were  dazzling  fair ; 
Sabina's  easy  shape  and  Air, 

With  softer  magic  drew. 

He  haunts  the  stream,  he  haunts  the  grove, 
Lives  in  a  fond  Romance  of  Love; 

And  seems  for  each  to  die ! 
Till  each,  a  little  spiteful  grown, 
Sabina,  Ccelia's  shape  ran  down ; 

And  she,  Sabina's  eye. 

Their  envy  made  the  Shepherd  find 
Those  eyes  which  Love  could  only  blind ; 

So  set  the  Lover  free ! 
No  more  he  haunts  the  grove,  or  stream; 
Or  with  a  True-Love  Knot  and  name, 

Engraves  a  wounded  tree ! 

'Ah,  Ccelia  ! '  sly  Sabina  cried, 

'  Though  neither  love  ;    we're  both  denied  ! 

Now,  to  support  the  Sex's  pride. 

Let  either  fix  the  dart!' 
'  Poor  Girl ! '   says  Ccelia,  *  say  no  more  ! ' 
For  should  the  Swain  but  one  adore. 
That  spite,  which  broke  his  chains  before, 

Would  break  the  other's  heart ! ' 

119 


Archdeacon  Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


LOVE  IN  DISGUISE. 

To  stifle  Passion  is  no  easy  thing! 
A  heart  in  love  is  always  on  the  wing! 
The  bold  betrayer  flutters  still, 
And  fans  the  breath  prepared  to  tell : 
It  melts  the  tongue,  and  tunes  the  throat, 
And  moves  the  lips  to  form  the  note ; 
And  when  the  speech  is  lost, 
It  then  sends  out  its  ghost, 
A  little  sigh, 
To  say,  '  We  die ! ' 
'Tis  strange,  the  air,  that  cools,  a  flame  should  prove ! 
But  wonder  not !     It  is  the  air  of  love ! 

Yet,  Chloris  !  I  can  make  my  love  look  well ; 
And  cover  bleeding  wounds  I  can't  conceal! 
My  words  such  art-ful  accents  break. 
You  think  I  rather  act  than  speak! 
My  sighs,  enlivened  through  a  smile. 
Your  unsuspecting  thoughts  beguile ! 
My  eyes  are  varied  so, 
You  can't  their  wishes  know ! 
And  I'm  so  gay. 
You  think  I  play ! 
Happy  contrivance!    such  as  can't  be  prized! 
To  live  in  love ;    and  yet  to  live  disguised ! 

I20 


Anonymous. 


LOVE'S  RELIEF. 

A  WRETCH,  long  tortured  with  disdain, 
That  hourly  pined,  but  pined  in  vain; 
At  length,  the  God  of  Wine  addrest, 
The  refuge  of  a  wounded  breast. 

'  Vouchsafe,  O,  Power !   thy  healing  aid ! 

Teach  me  to  gain  the  cruel  Maid ! 

Thy  juices  take  the  Lover's  part. 

Flush  his  wan  looks,  and  cheer  his  heart!' 

Thus  to  the  jolly  God  he  cried ; 
And  thus  the  jolly  God  replied. 
*  Give  whining  o'er  !     Be  brisk  and  gay ; 
And  quaff  this  sneaking  Form  away ! ' 

'With  dauntless  mien  approach  the  Fair! 
The  way  to  conquer  is  to  dare ! ' 
The  Swain  pursued  the  God's  advice; 
The  Nymph  was  now  no  longer  nice. 

She  smiled,  and  spoke  the  Sex's  mind, 
'  When  you  grow  daring ;    we  grow  kind ! 
Men  to  themselves  are  most  severe ; 
And  make  us  tyrants  by  their  fear!' 


121 


Anonymous. 


A  SILLY  Shepherd  wooed ;   but  wist  not 

How  he  might  his  Mistress'  favour  gain. 
On  a  time,  they  met ;    but  kissed  not ! 
Ever  after  that,  he  sued  in  vain  ! 

Blame  her  not,  alas  !    though  She  said  *  Nay ! ' 
To  him  that  might ;    but  fled  away ! 


Time  perpetually  is  changing. 

Every  moment  alteration  brings, 
Love  and  Beauty  still  estranging. 

Women  are,  alas  !    but  wanton  things ! 
He  that  will  his  Mistress'  favour  gain, 
Must  take  her  in  a  merry  vein! 


A  woman's  fancy  's  like  a  fever; 

Or  an  ague,  that  doth  come  by  fits ! 
Hot  and  cold,  but  constant  never; 
Even  as  the  pleasant  humour  hits. 

Sick,  and  well  again ;    and  well  and  sick ; 
In  love  it  is  a  woman's  trick  ! 

122 


Anonymous. 


Now  she  will ;   and  then  she  will  not ! 

Put  her  to  the  trial,  if  once  she  smile ! 
Silly  Youth!   thy  fortunes  spill  not! 

Ling  ring  labours  oft  themselves  beguile ! 
He  that  knocks,  and  can't  get  in  ; 
His  pick-lock  is  not  worth  a  pin ! 


A  woman's  '  Nay ! '  is  no  denial ! 

Silly  Youths  of  love  are  served  so ! 
Put  her  to  a  further  trial! 

Haply,  she'll  take  it,  and  say  'No!' 
For  it  is  a  trick  which  women  use; 
What  they  love,  they  will  refuse! 


Silly  Youth  !   why  dost  thou  dally, 
Having  got  time  and  season  fit? 
Then,  never  stand,  *  Sweet !   shall  I  ?   shall  I  ? ' 
Nor  too  much  commend  an  after-wit ! 
For  he  that  will  not,  when  he  may ; 
When  he  will,  he  shall  have  '  Nay ! ' 


123 


Nicholas  Rowe,  P.L. 


THE  RECONCILEMENT  BETWEEN 
JACOB  TON  SON  AND  MR,  CONG  RE  VE. 

In  imitation  of  Horace,  Book  III,  Ode  IX. 

ToNsoN.     While  at  my  house  in  Fleet  street  once  you  lay, 
How  merrily,  dear  Sir !    time  passed  away ! 
While  I  partook  your  wine,  your  wit,  and  mirth  ; 
I  was  the  happiest  creature  on  '  God's  yearth ' !  ^ 

CoNGREVE.  While,  in  your  early  days  of  reputation. 

You  for  Blue  Garters  had  not  such  a  Passion; 
While  yet  you  did  not  use,  as  now  your  trade  is. 
To  drink  with  noble  Lords,  and  toast  their  Ladies : 
Thou,  Jacob  Tonson  !    wert,  to  my  conceiving, 
The  cheerfullest,  best,  honest  fellow  living ! 

Tonson.  I'm  in  with  Captain  Vanbrugh  at  the  present, 
A  most  sweet-natured  Gentleman,  and  pleasant ! 
He  writes   your  Comedies,   draws    Schemes   and 

Models ; 
And  builds  Dukes'  houses  upon  very  odd  hills! 
For  him,  so  much  I  dote  on  him,  that  I 
(If  I  were  sure  to  go  to  heaven !)  would  die  ! 


'  Tonson  senior,  his  dialect. 


T24 


Nicholas  Rowe,  P.L. 


CoNGREVE.  Temple  and  Delavall  are  now  my  party, 

Men  that  are  tarn  Mercurio,  both  quam  Marte. 
And  though  for  them,  I  shall  scarce  go  to  Heaven  ; 
Yet  I  can  drink  with  them,  six  nights  in  seven ! 

ToNSON.      What  if  from  Van's  dear  arms  I  should  retire  ; 
And  once  more  warm  my  '  bunnians '  ^  at  your  fire  1 
If  I  to  Bow  street  should  invite  you  home, 
And  set  a  bed  up  in  my  dining-room  ; 
Tell  me,  dear  Mr.  Congreve!  would  you  come? 

CoNGREVE.  Though  the  gay  Sailor  and  the  gentle  Knight 
Were  ten  times  more  my  joy  and  heart's  delight ; 
Though  civil  persons  they  ;   you  ruder  were, 
And  had  more  humours  than  a  dancing  bear : 
Yet,  for  your  sake,  I'd  bid  them  both  '  Adieu ! ' 
And  live  and  die,  dear  Cob  !   with  only  you ! 


COLIN'S  COMPLAINT. 

Despairing,  beside  a  clear  stream, 

A  Shepherd  forsaken  was  laid; 
And  while  a  false  Nymph  was  his  theme, 

A  willow  supported  his  head. 
The  wind,  that  blew  over  the  plain, 

To  his  sighs,  with  a  sigh  did  reply; 
And  the  brook,  in  return  to  his  pain, 

Ran  mournfully  murmuring  by. 

^  Jacob's  term  for  his  corns. 

125 


Nicholas  Rowe,  P.L. 


*  Alas !  silly  Swain  that  I  was ! ' 

Thus,  sadly  complaining,  he  cried, 
'When  first  I  beheld  that  fair  face, 

'Twere  better,  by  far,  I  had  died! 
She  talked ;    and  I  blessed  the  dear  tongue ! 

When  She  smiled,  'twas  a  pleasure  too  great 
I  listened,  and  cried,  when  She  sung, 

"Was  nightingale  ever  so  sweet?" 


'  How  foolish  I  was  to  believe 

She  could  dote  on  so  lowly  a  Clown! 
Or  that  her  fond  heart  would  not  grieve 

To  forsake  the  fine  folk  of  the  Town ! 
To  think  that  a  Beauty  so  gay. 

So  kind  and  so  constant  would  prove ; 
Or  go  clad  like  our  Maidens,  in  grey ; 

Or  live  in  a  cottage  on  love  I 


'  What  though  I  have  skill  to  complain, 

Though  the  Muses  my  temples  have  crowned ; 
What  though,  when  they  hear  my  soft  strain, 

The  Virgins  sit  weeping  around; 
Ah  !    Colin  !    thy  hopes  are  in  vain  ! 

Thy  pipe  and  thy  laurel  resign ! 
Thy  False  One  inclines  to  a  Swain, 

Whose  music  is  sweeter  than  thine! 

126 


Nicholas  Rowe,  P.L. 


*  And  you,  my  companions  so  dear ! 

Who  sorrow  to  see  me  betrayed, 
Whatever  I  suffer;    forbear, 

Forbear  to  accuse  the  false  Maid ! 
Though  through  the  wide  world  I  should  range ; 

'Tis  in  vain  from  my  fortune  to  fly ! 
'Twas  hers  to  be  false  and  to  change; 

'Tis  mine  to  be  constant  and  die ! 


*  If,  while  my  hard  fate  I  sustain, 

In  her  breast  any  pity  is  found; 
Let  her  come,  with  the  Nymphs  of  the  plain. 

And  see  me  laid  low  in  the  ground ! 
The  last  humble  boon  that  I  crave, 

Is  to  shade  me  with  cypress  and  yew; 
And  when  she  looks  down  on  my  grave. 

Let  her  own,  that  her  Shepherd  was  true! 


*  Then,  to  her  New  Love  let  her  go, 

And  deck  her  in  golden  array! 
Be  finest  at  ev'ry  fine  Show, 

And  frolic  it  all  the  long  day! 
While  Colin,  forgotten  and  gone, 

No  more  shall  be  talked  of,  or  seen; 
Unless  when,  beneath  the  pale  moon. 

His  ghost  shall  glide  over  the  Green.' 


127 


Aaron  Hill. 


O,  FORBEAR  to  bid  me  slight  her ! 
Soul  and  Senses  take  her  part! 
Could  my  death  itself  delight  her ; 
Life  should  leap,  to  leave  my  heart ! 
Strong,  though  soft,  a  Lover's  chain ! 
Charmed  with  woe;  and  pleased  with  pain! 

Though  the  tender  flame  were  dying, 

Love  would  light  it  at  her  eyes ! 
Or  her  tuneful  voice  applying, 

Through  my  ear,  my  soul  surprise! 
Deaf,  I  see  the  fate  I  shun ! 
Blind,  I  hear  I  am  undone ! 


*  Gentle  Love  !   this  hour  befriend  me ! 

To  my  eyes  resign  thy  dart ! 
Notes  of  melting  music  lend  me, 

To  dissolve  a  frozen  heart! 

'Chill  as  mountain  snow  her  bosom; 

Though  I  tender  language  use ! 
'Tis,  by  cold  indifference,  frozen 

To  my  arms,  and  to  my  Muse! 

'  See !    my  dying  eyes  are  pleading, 
Where  a  breaking  heart  appears! 
For  thy  pity  interceding, 

With  the  eloquence  of  tears  ! 
128 


Aaron  Hill. 


'  While  the  lamp  of  life  is  fading ; 

And  beneath  thy  coldness  dies  ! 
Death,  my  ebbing  pulse  invading, 

Take  my  soul  into  thy  eyes ! ' 


THE  LETTER, 

I  TOOK  the  paper  in  my  trembling  hand  ; 

Which,  having  writ  your  name,  my  pen  confined, 
And  forced  my  hasty  will  to  make  a  stand, 

While  love's  imperious  tempest  shook  my  mind. 

Cold  languid  sweats  fall  gently  from  my  brow ; 

And  while  I  strive  to  write  *  I  love  you  well ! ' 
My  conscious  heart  whispers,  '  Thou  know'st  not  how  ! 

Alas !  thou  lov'st  him  more  than  thou  canst  tell ! ' 

What  then  remains,  in  this  extreme,  to  do  ? 

Say,  trembling  hand!     Cold  icy  heart,  declare! 
'  You  guide  my  fate !   I'm  blessed,  if  you  prove  true  ! 

And  nothing,  sure,  is  false,  that  looks  so  fair ! 

*  Some  Maids  are  ruined,  and  no  pity  find ; 

But  their  deceivers  were  not  made  like  mine ! 
Ah  I   who  can  see  thy  face,  and  not  be  kind  ? 

Or  stand  the  charms  of  such  a  tongue  as  thine?' 


BRTT.  ANTH.  VIII.  K  129 


Anonymous. 


Farewell,  my  Mistress !    I'll  be  gone ! 
I  have  friends  to  wait  upon ! 
Think  you,  I'll  myself  confine 
To  your  humours,  Lady  mine ! 
No !    Your  louring  looks  do  say, 
'  'Twill  be  a  rainy  drinking  day ; 
To  the  Tavern  let  's  away!' 


There  have  I  a  Mistress  got 
Cloistered  in  a  Pottle  Pot! 
Plump  and  bounding,  soft  and  fair, 
Buxom,  sweet,  and  debonair ; 
And  they  call  her,  'Sack,'  my  Dear 


Yet,  if  thou  wilt  take  the  pain 
To  be  kind  yet  once  again ! 
And  with  thy  smiles  but  call  me  back ; 
Thou  shalt  be  the  Lady  Sack! 
O,  then  try !   and  you  shall  see 
What  a  loving  soul  I'll  be. 
When  I'm  drunk  with  none  but  thee ! 


130 


yohn  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Biickinghmn. 


THE  RECONCILEMENT. 

Come,  let  us  now  resolve  at  last, 
To  live  and  love  in  quiet ; 

We'll  tie  the  knot  so  very  fast, 
That  Time  shall  ne'er  untie  it ! 


The  truest  joys  they  seldom  prove, 
Who  free  from  quarrels  live. 

'Tis  the  most  tender  part  of  love, 
Each  other  to  forgive ! 


When  least  I  seemed  concerned,  I  took 

No  pleasure,  nor  no  rest ! 
And  when  I  feigned  an  angry  look, 

Alas !    I  loved  you  best ! 


Own  but  the  same  to  me;   you'll  find 
How  blessed  will  be  our  fate! 

O,  to  be  happy!   to  be  kind! 
Sure,  never  is  too  late. 


K  2  131 


yohn  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckinghmn. 


THE  ELECTION  OF  A  POET  LAUREATE 

IN  1719. 

A  FAMOUS  Assembly  was  summoned  of  late. 
To  crown  a  new  Laureate,  came  Phcebus  in  State ; 
With  all  that  Montfaucon  himself  could  desire, 
His  bow,  laurel,  harp,  and  abundance  of  fire. 

At  Bartlemew  Fair  ne'er  did  Bullies  so  justle ; 
No  County  Election  e'er  made  such  a  bustle ! 
From  garret,  Mint,  tavern,  they  all  post  away; 
Some  thirsting  for  Sack;    some  ambitious  for  Bay! 

All  came  with  full  confidence,  flushed  with  vain  hope, 
From  Gibber  and  D'Urfey,  to  Prior  and  Pope. 
Phcebus  smiled  on  these  last;   but  yet  ne'ertheless 
Said,  He  hoped  they  had  got  enough  by  the  Press ! 

With  a  huge  mountain-load  of  heroical  lumber, 
Which  from  Tonson  to  Curll  ev'ry  press  had  groaned 

under, 
Came  Blackmore,  and  cried,  '  Look !  all  these  are  my 

Lays ! 
But,  at  present,  I  beg  you'd  but  read  my  Essays  V 

132 


yoJin  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Btickinghani. 

Lampooners  and  Critics  rushed  in  like  a  tide. 
Stern  Dennis  and  Gildon  came  first  side  by  side. 
Apollo  confessed,  That  their  lashes  had  stings  ; 
But  Beadles  and  Hangmen  were  never  chose  Kings ! 

Steele  long  had  so  cunningly  managed  the  Town ; 
He  could  not  be  blamed  for  expecting  the  crown ! 
Apollo  demurred  as  to  granting  his  wish ; 
But  wished  him  good  luck  to  his  Project  of  Fish ! 

Lame  Congreve,  unable  such  things  to  endure, 
Of  Apollo  begged  either  a  crown,  or  a  cure! 
To  refuse  such  a  Writer,  Apollo  was  loth, 
And  almost  inclined  to  have  granted  him  both. 

When  Buckingham  came,  he  scarce  cared  to  be  seen, 
Till  Phcebus  desired  his  old  friend  to  walk  in. 
But  a  Laureate  Peer  had  never  been  known ! 
The  Commoners  claimed  that  Place  as  their  own ! 

Yet  if  the  kind  God  had  been  ne'er  so  inclined 
To  break  an  old  rule ;   yet  he  well  knew  his  mind : 
Who  of  such  preferment  would  only  make  sport. 
And  laughed  at  all  suitors  for  Places  at  Court! 

Notwithstanding  this  law,  yet  Lansdowne  was  named; 
But  Apollo,  with  kindness,  his  indolence  blamed ! 
And  said.  He  would  choose  him ;  but  that  he  should 

fear 
An  employment  of  trouble  he  never  could  bear ! 

133 


John  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

A   Prelate  for  wit  and  for  eloquence  famed 
Apollo  soon  missed ;   and  he  needs  not  be  named ! 
Since  (amidst  a  whole  Bench,  of  which  some  are  so  bright) 
No  one  of  them  shines  so  learned  and  polite ! 

To  SnipPEN,  Apollo  was  cold  with  respect; 
Since  he,  for  the  State  could  the  Muses  neglect: 
But  said,   In  a  greater  Assembly  he  shined, 
And  Places  were  things  he  had  ever  declined! 

Tr — p,  Y — G,  and  Vanbrugh  expected  reward 
For  some  things  writ  well :   but  Apollo  declared, 
That  one  was  too  flat,  the  other  too  rough ; 
And  the  third,  sure,  already  had   Places  enough ! 

Pert  BuDGELL  came  next,  and  demanding  the  Bays, 
Said,  '  Those  Works  must  be  good,  which  had  Addi- 
son's praise  ! ' 
But  Apollo  replied,  '  Child  Eustace  !   'tis  known 
Most  Authors  will  praise  whatsoever  's  their  own ! ' 

Then  Philips  came  forth,  as  starch  as  a  Quaker, 
Whose  simple  profession  's  a  Pastoral-vcvd^^x. 
Apollo  advised  him,  From  Playhouse  to  keep; 
And  pipe  to  nought  else  but  his  dog  and  his  sheep! 

Hughes,  Fenton,  and  Gay  came  last  in  the  Train; 
Too  modest  to  ask  for  the  Crown  they  would  gain. 
Phcebus  thought  them  too  bashful,  and  said,  '  They 

would  need 
More  boldness,  if  ever  they  hoped  to  succeed  1 ' 

134 


yohn  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Apollo,  now  driv'n  to  a  cursed  quandary, 

Was  wishing  for  Swift,  or  the  famed  Lady  Mary. 

Nay !    had  honest  Tom  Southerne  but  been  within 

call- 
But,  at  last,  he  grew  wanton ;  and  laughed  at  them  all ! 

And  so,  'spying  one  who  came  only  to  gaze, 
A  hater  of  Verse  and  despiser  of  Plays, 
To  him,  in  great  form,  without  any  delay, 
(Though  a  zealous  Fanatic!)  presented  the  Bay. 

All  the  Wits  stood  astonished,  at  hearing  the  God 
So  gravely  pronounce  an  election  so  odd ; 
And  though  Prior  and  Pope  only  laughed  in  his  face, 
Most  others  were  ready  to  sink  in  the  place. 

Yet  some  thought  the  vacancy  open  was  kept, 
Concluding  the  bigot  would  never  accept : 
But  the  hypocrite  told  them,   '  He  well  understood, 
Though  the  function  was  wicked,  the  stipend  was  good ! ' 

At   last,  in   rushed    Eusden,   and   cried,  'Who   shall 

have  it 
But  I,  the  true  Laureate  !  to  whom  the  King  gave  it ! ' 
Apollo  begged  pardon,  and  granted  his  claim  ; 
But  vowed  though,  till  then,  he  ne'er  heard  of  his  name  ! 


135 


Rev.  Laurence  Eusden,  P.L. 


TO  MR.  . 

You  ask,  my  friend  !     How  I  can  Delia  prize ; 
When  Myra's  shape  I  view,  or  Cynthia's  eyes  ? 
No  tedious  answer  shall  create  you  pain ; 
For  beauty,  if  but  beauty,   I  disdain! 

'Tis  not  a  mien,  that  can  my  will  control ; 
A  speaking  body  with  a  silent  soul ! 
The  loveliest  face  to  me  not  lovely  shows, 
From  the  sweet  lips  if  melting  nonsense  flows ! 
Nor  must  the  tuneful  Chloris  be  my  choice  ! 
An  earthly  mind  ill  suits  a  heavenly  voice! 


What  though  my  Delia  not  decayed  appears, 
'  She  wants,'  you  cry,  '  the  gaudy  bloom  of  years 
True!     But  good  sense  perpetual  joys  will  bring! 
Her  wit  is  ever  youthful  as  the  Spring !  .  .  . 


Not  so  my  Delia  shall  consume  her  charms ; 
But  rise,  each  morn,  more  beauteous  from  my  arms ! 
With  envious  swiftness,  rolling  years  may  move. 
Impair  her  glories  ;    not  impair  my  love ! 
Time's  wasteful  rage,  the  Husband  shall  despise ; 
And  view  the  Wife  still  with  the  Bridegroom's  eyes!  .  .  . 


136 


Hon.  Mary  Monk. 


A   TALE. 

A  BAND  of  Cupids,  th'  other  day, 
Together  met  to  laugh  and  play. 
When,  on  a  sudden,  '  Come,  who  flies  ? ' 
Says  one.     *  But  whither  ? '  t'  other  cries. 
'  Why,  whither,  but  to  Cloe's  eyes ! ' 
Replied  a  third.     The  wanton  crew 
(Like  swarms  of  bees  to  roses)  flew 
Around  the  beauteous  Cloe's  face, 
And  crowded  hard  to  get  a  place. 

This  on  her  nether  Hp  does  fix ; 
Whilst  on  her  cheek  another  sticks. 
This  swings  upon  her  flowing  hair. 
In  her  fair  eyes,  a  lovely  pair 
Of  Youths  stand,  with  their  torches  lit. 
Two  others  on  her  eyebrows  sit, 
Each  with  his  bow.     Amongst  the  rest, 
One  missed  her  chin ;   and  on  her  breast 
Fell  headlong :    but  soon,  looking  up,  did  cry, 
*  None  of  you've  got  so  good  a  place  as  I ! ' 


137 


Leonard  Welsted. 


THE  PICTURE   OF 
A    FINE  APRIL   MORNING. 

*  The  snows  are  melted,  and  the  frosts  are  past ; 
Nor  do  we  longer  dread  the  wintry  blast ! 

What  garland  shall  Amintor  now  design  ? 

What  wreath,  Zelinda  !   round  thy  temples  twine  ? 

'  The  dawning  year  revives  the  Poet's  fire ; 
Soft  strains  of  love  returning  suns  inspire  ! 
In  every  wood,  behold,  in  every  glade, 
Th'  unsullied  verdure,  and  the  growing  shade ! 
All  Nature,  like  a  Bride,  emerges  bright ; 
And  her  lap  teems,  luxuriant  with  delight. 

*  O'er  tepid  plains  the  tempering  zephyrs  pass. 
Call  forth  the  bursting  leaves,  and  spring  the  grass  ! 
Afresh  the  painted  pansy  rears  its  head. 

The  whitened  meadow  starry  daisies  spread. 
The  birds  sweet  warble  from  the  sappy  boughs ; 
And  Swains  in  tuneful  sighs  renew  their  vows. 

'  Inspire,  O,  blooming  Maid !    my  artless  Lay ; 
While  I  recall  our  first  auspicious  day. 
The  dawn,  my  Fair!    when  early  I  addressed 
My  tender  suit;   and  sighed  upon  thy  breast! 

'Zelinda  blushed;   a  blush  the  morning  wore! 
Zelinda  smiled;   nor  was  it  day  before! 
138 


Leonard  IVelsted. 


The  sun,  a  radiant  lustre  holds  a  while; 
The  image  of  Zelinda's  gleamy  smile. 
A  feeble  shine  does  on  the  water  play 
And  disappear,  by  turns ;   a  fickle  ray. 

'  Zelinda  wept ;   when  soon  the  changing  skies 
Grew  black  with  gathering  clouds,  that  westward  rise. 
Thin-scattered  now,  the  drops,  like  gems,  descend  ; 
Now,  v/ith  the  frequent  shower  the  lilies  bend ! 

*  How  calm  the  air !     A  pleasing  stillness  reigns ; 
And  the  moist  verdure  brightens  through  the  plains. 
Soft-sinking  falls  the  silver  rain ;    when,  lo ! 
Athwart  th'  horizon  stretched,  the  Wat'ry  Bow 
Swells  its  proud  arch,  with  braided  colours  gay. 
That  interchange  their  dyes,  and  swift  decay. 

The  clouds  disperse.     The  sun  pursues  on  high 
His  vaulted  course ;    and  glows  along  the  sky. 
The  linnets  in  the  dewy  bushes  sing ; 
And  every  field  is  redolent  of  Spring! 

*  Such  was  the  morn,  Zelinda  !      May  it  prove 
A  happy  emblem  of  Amintor's  love ! 

Begun  by  smiling  hopes  ;   but  soon  o'ercast ! 

Our  jealous  fears,  like  clouds,  dispersed  at  last. 

Pensive  I  hung  my  head,  like  drooping  flowers  ; 

And  tears  my  bosom  dewed,  like  gentle  showers. 

But  soon  with  settled  joys  my  soul  is  blessed ; 

Thy  face,  my  heaven!    in  lasting  smiles  is  dressed! 

Let  fond  distrust  no  more  past  pains  renew ! 

While  thou  art  kind  ;    Amin tor  will  be  true ! ' 

139 


Barton  Booth. 


Sweet  are  the  charms  of  her  I  love, 

More  fragrant  than  the  damask  rose, 
Soft  as  the  down  of  turtle-dove, 

Gentle  as  wind  when  Zephyr  blows, 
Refreshing  as  descending  rains 
To  sunburnt  climes  and  thirsty  plains. 

True  as  the  needle  to  the  Pole, 

Or  as  the  dial  to  the  sun ; 
Constant  as  gliding  waters  roll, 

Whose  swelling  tides  obey  the  moon ; 
From  ev'ry  other  Charmer  free, 
My  life  and  love  shall  follow  thee! 

The  lamb,  the  flow'ry  thyme  devours. 

The  dam,  the  tender  kid  pursues. 
Sweet  Philomel,  in  shady  bowers 
Of  verdant  Spring,  her  note  renews. 
All  follow  what  they  most  admire, 
As  I  pursue  my  soul's  desire ! 

Nature  must  change  her  beauteous  face, 

And  vary  as  the  Seasons  rise  : 
As  Winter,  to  the  Spring  gives  place ; 
Summer,  th'  approach  of  Autumn  flies. 
No  changfe  on  Love  the  Seasons  brino- ; 
Love  only  knows  perpetual  Spring ! 
140 


Barton  Booth. 


Devouring  Time,  with  stealing  pace, 
Makes  lofty  oaks  and  cedars  bow ; 
And  marble  towers,  and  walls  of  brass, 
In  his  rude  march,  he  levels  low. 
But  Time,  destroying  far  and  wide. 
Love,  from  the  Soul  can  ne'er  divide ! 


Death  only,  with  his  cruel  dart. 

The  gentle  Godhead  can  remove ; 
And  drive  him  from  the  bleeding  heart, 
To  mingle  with  the  Blessed  above ; 
Where,  known  to  all  his  kindred  Train, 
He  finds  a  lasting  rest  from  pain. 


Love,  and  his  Sister  fair,  the  Soul, 

Twin-born,  from  Heaven  tiogether  came. 
Love  will  the  Universe  control, 

When  dying  Seasons  lose  their  name! 
Divine  abodes  shall  own  his  power, 
When  Time  and  Death  shall  be  no  more ! 


T41 


Isabella  Conway,  Countess  of  Hertford. 


\Said  to  have  been  written  by  Lady  Hertford 
TO  Lord   William  Hamilton^] 

Dear  Colin  !    prevent  my  warm  blushes  ! 

Since  how  can  I  speak  without  pain ! 
My  eyes  have  oft  told  you  their  wishes  ! 

Ah !   can't  you  their  meaning  explain  ? 
My  Passion  would  lose  by  expression  ; 

And  you,  too,  might  cruelly  blame  ! 
Then  don't  you  expect  a  Confession 

Of  what  is  too  tender  to  name ! 


Since  yours  is  the  province  of  speaking ; 

Why  should  you  expect  it  of  me  ? 
Our  wishes  should  be  in  our  keeping. 

Till  you  tell  us,  what  they  should  be ! 
Then,  quickly  why  don't  you  discover? 

Did  your  breast  feel  tortures  like  mine, 
Eyes  need  not  tell  over  and  over 

What  I,  in  my  bosom  confine  ! 


142 


Lady  Mary  IVortley  Montagu. 


THE  ANSWER. 

Good  Madam !  when  Ladies  are  willing ; 

A  man  must  needs  look  like  a  fool! 
For  me,   I  would  not  give  a  shilling 

For  one  that  is  kind  out  of  rule ! 
At  least,  you  might  stay  for  my  offer ; 

Not  snatch,  like  Old  Maids  in  despair ! 
If  you've  lived  to  these  years,  without  proffer ; 

Your  sighs  are  now  lost  in  the  air ! 


You  might  leave  me  to  guess  by  your  blushing 

And  not  speak  the  matter  so  plain ! 
'Tis  ours  to  pursue,  and  be  pushing ! 

'Tis  yours  to  affect  a  disdain ! 
That  you're  in  a  pitiful  taking, 

By  all  your  sweet  ogles  I  see  ; 
But  the  fruit  that  will  fall  without  shaking, 

Indeed,  is  too  mellow  for  me! 


143 


Lady  Mary  JVortley  Montagu. 

A  RECEIPT  TO  CURE  THE   VAPOURS. 

Written  to  Lady  Irwin. 

Why  will  Delia  thus  retire, 

And  languish  life  away  ? 
While  the  sighing  crowd  admire, 

'Tis  too  soon  for  hartshorn  tea! 

All  those  dismal  looks  and  fretting 

Cannot  Damon's  life  restore ! 
Long  ago,  the  worms  have  eat  him ; 

You  can  never  see  him  more ! 

Once  again  consult  your  toilet ! 

In  the  Glass,  your  face  review! 
So  much  weeping  soon  will  spoil  it ; 

And  no  Spring  your  charms  renew! 

I,  like  you,  was  born  a  woman ! 

Well  I  know  what  Vapours  mean! 
The  disease,  alas !    is  common ! 

Single,  we  have  all  the  Spleen! 

All  the  Morals  that  they  tell  us. 
Never  cured  the  sorrow  yet ! 

Choose,  among  the  Pretty  Fellows, 
One  of  humour,  youth,  and  wit! 
144 


Lady  Mary  IVovtley  Montagu. 

Prithee,  hear  him,  every  morning, 
At  the  least  an  hour  or  two! 

Once  again  at  night  returning ; 
I  beheve  the  dose  will  do ! 


THE  ADVICE. 

Cease,  fond  Shepherd  !     Cease  desiring 

What  you  never  must  enjoy ! 
She  derides  your  vain  aspiring! 

She,  to  all  your  Sex  is  coy! 

Cunning  Damon  once  pursued  her; 

Yet  She  never  would  incline ! 
Strephon  too,  as  vainly  wooed  her, 

Thoueh  his  flocks  are  more  than  thine! 


'£>' 


At  Diana's  shrine,  aloud, 

By  the  zone  around  her  waist. 

Thrice  She  bowed,  and  thrice  She  vowed, 
Like  the  Goddess,  to  be  chaste. 


THE  ANSWER. 

Though  I  never  got  possession ; 

'Tis  a  pleasure  to  adore ! 
Hope,  the  wretch's  only  blessing, 

May,  in  time,  procure  me  more  ! 

BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  L  145 


Lady  Mary  IVortley  Montagu. 

Constant  courtship  may  obtain  her, 
Where  both  wealth  and  merit  fail; 

And  the  lucky  minute  gain  her! 
Fate  and  fancy  must  prevail! 

At  Diana's  shrine,  aloud, 

By  the  bow  and  by  the  quiver, 

Thrice  She  bowed,  and  thrice  She  vowed, 
Once  to  love — and  that  for  ever! 


AN  ANSWER  TO  A  LADY, 

WHO    ADVISED   LaDY  M.     W.    MoNTAGU  TO    RETIRE. 

You  little  know  the  heart,  that  you  advise ! 
I  view  this  various  scene  with  equal  eyes ! 
In  crowded  Court,  I  find  myself  alone  ; 
And  pay  my  worship  to  a  nobler  throne ! 

Long  since,  the  value  of  this  World  I  knew! 
Pitied  the  folly;   and  despised  the  shew! 
Well  as  I  can,  my  tedious  part  I  bear ; 
And  wait  dismissal,  without  pain,  or  fear! 

Seldom  I  mark  Mankind's  detested  ways ; 
Not  hearing  censure,  or  affecting  praise ! 
And,  unconcerned,  my  future  fate  I  trust 
To  that  sole  Being,  merciful  and  just! 


146 


Ano7tymo7is. 


THE   VICAR  OF  BRA  Y. 

In  good  King  Charles's  golden  days, 

When  loyalty  no  harm  meant ; 
A  furious  High  Churchman  I  was, 

And  so  I  gained  preferment. 
Unto  my  flock  I  daily  preached, 

*  Kings  are  by  GOD  appointed ; 
And  damned  are  those,  who  dare  resist. 
Or  touch,  the  Lord's  Anointed ! ' 
And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain 

Unto  my  dying  day,  Sir ! 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
I  will  be  Vicar  of  Bray,  Sir! 


When  royal  James  possessed  the  crown. 

And  Popery  grew  in  fashion ! 
The  Penal  Law  I  hooted  down  ; 

And  read  the  Declaration ! 
The  Church  of  Rome,  I  found  would  fit 

Full  well  my  constitution ; 
And  I  had  been  a  Jesuit 

But  for  the  Revolution. 

And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain,  &c. 
L  2  147 


Anonymous. 


When  William,  our  Deliverer,  came 

To  heal  the  nation's  grievance  ; 
I  turned  the  cat  in  pan  again, 

And  swore  to  him  allegiance. 
Old  principles  I  did  revoke; 

Set  conscience  at  a  distance ! 
Passive  Obedience  is  a  joke! 

A  jest  is  Non  Resistance ! 

And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain,  &c. 

When  glorious  Anne  became  our  Queen, 

The  Church  of  England's  glory! 
Another  face  of  things  was  seen  ; 

And  I  became  a  Tory! 
Occasional  Conformists  base, 

I  damned  ;   and  Moderation ! 
And  thought  the  Church  in  danger  was, 

From  such  prevarication. 

And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain,  &c. 

When  George,  in  pudding  time,  came  o'er; 

And  Moderate  Men  looked  big,  Sir! 
My  principles  I  changed  once  more ; 

And  so  became  a  Whig,  Sir! 
And  thus  preferment  I  procured 

From  our  Faith's  great  Defender; 
And,  almost  every  day,  abjured 

The  Pope,  and  the  Pretender. 

And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain,  &c. 
148 


Anonymous. 


The  Illustrious  House  of  Hanover 

And  Protestant  Succession ; 
To  these,  I  lustily  will  swear, 

Whilst  they  can  keep  possession ! 
For  in  my  faith  and  loyalty, 

I  never  once  will  falter ; 
But  George,  my  lawful  King  shall  be, 

Except  the  Times  should  alter. 

And  this  is  law,  I  will  maintain,  &c. 


ADVICE  TO  THE  LADIES. 

Fly  from  false  Man  !    Dorinda,  fly ! 
Believe  them  not !     They'll  swear  and  lie ! 
They're  all  deceit  and  perjury ! 

They  cannot  love  above  a  day! 

For  if  with  you  they  longer  stay ; 

'Tis  but  to  steal  your  heart  away ! 
Exchange  of  hearts  for  yours,  they've  none! 
For  yours,  they'll  ne'er  return  their  own  I 
'Tis  conquest  they  design  alone ! 


TO  BELINDA. 

In  Church,  the  Prayer  Book  and  the  fan  displayed. 
And  solemn  curtsies,  shew  the  wily  Maid  ; 
At  Plays,  the  leering  looks  and  wanton  Airs, 
And  nods  and  smiles,  are  fondly  meant  for  snares. 
Alas !    vain  Charmer  I    you  no  Lovers  get  I 
There,  you  seem  hypocrite ;  and  here,  coquette  ! 

149 


AlexcDider  Pope. 


VERSES 
TO  THE  Lady  JI/ary  Wortley  Montagu. 
[Before  the  Quarrel.    1720.] 

In  Beauty,  or  Wit, 

No  mortal,  as  yet, 
To  question  your  empire  has  dared ! 

But  men  of  discerning 

Have  thought,  that  in  Learning, 
To  yield  to  a  Lady  was  hard ! 


Impertinent  Schools, 

With  musty  dull  rules, 
Have  reading  to  Females  denied : 

So   Papists  refuse 

The  Bi'd/e  to  use  ; 
Lest  flocks  should  be  wise  as  their  guide ! 


■•o 


Alexander  Pope. 


'Twas  a  woman,  at  first 
(Indeed  she  was  cursed!), 

In  Knowledge  that  tasted  delight 
And  Sages  agree, 
The  laws  should  decree 

To  the  first  possessor  the  right ! 


Then  bravely,  fair  Dame  ! 

Renew  the  old  claim, 
Which  to  your  whole  Sex  does  belong ! 

And  let  men  receive 

From  a  second  bright  Eve. 
The  knowledge  of  Right  and  Wrong! 


But  if  the  first  Eve, 

Hard  doom  did  receive. 
When  only  one  apple  had  she ; 

What  a  punishment  new 

Shall  be  found  out  for  you  ; 
Who,  tasting,  have  robbed  the  whole  tree 


151 


Lady  Mary  IV.  Montagu,  &  yoJiii,  Lord  Hervey. 


VERSES 

ADDRESSED    TO   [ALEXANDER   PoPE,'\    THE    TmITATOR    OF 

Tee  First  Satire  of  the  Second  Book 

OF  Horace. 

\After  the  Quarrel.    1733^ 

In  two  large  columns  on  thy  motley  page, 
Where  Roman  wit  is  striped  with  English  rage ; 
Where  Ribaldry  to  Satire  makes  pretence, 
And  modern  Scandal  rolls  with  ancient  Sense : 
Whilst  on  one  side,  we  see  how  Horace  thought ; 
And  on  the  other,  how  he  never  wrote ! 
Who  can  believe,  who  view  the  bad  and  good, 
That  the  dull  Copyist  better  understood 
That  Spirit  he  pretends  to  imitate, 
Than  heretofore  that  Greek  he  did  translate ! 

Thine  is  just  such  an  image  of  his  pen, 
As  thou  thyself  art,  of  the  sons  of  men! 
Where  our  own  species  in  burlesque  we  trace, 
A  Sign-Post  likeness  of  the  noble  race ; 
That  is  at  once  resemblance  and  diso^race  ! 

Horace  can  laugh,  is  delicate,  is  clear; 
You  only  coarsely  rail,  or  darkly  sneer ! 
His  style  is  elegant,  his  diction  pure  ; 
Whilst  none,  thy  crabbed  Numbers  can  endure. 
Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure ! 


Lady  Mary  IV.  Montagu^  &  yohn,  Lord  Hervey. 

If  he  has  thorns ;   they  all  on  roses  grow ! 
Thine,  like  rude  thistles  and  mean  brambles  show ; 
With  this  exception,  that,  though  rank  the  soil, 
Weeds  as  they  are,  they  seem  produced  by  toil ! 

Satire  should,  like  a  polished  razor  keen, 
Wound  with  a  touch  that  's  scarcely  felt  or  seen ! 
Thine  is  an  oyster-knife,  that  hacks  and  hews ! 
The  rage,  but  not  the  talent,  of  abuse !  .  .  . 
Neither  to  Folly,  nor  to  Vice,  confined; 
The  object  of  thy  spleen  is  Human  Kind! 
It  preys  on-  all!   who  yield;   or  who  resist! 
To  thee,  'tis  provocation  to  exist ! 

But  if  thou  seest^  a  great  and  generous  heart; 
Thy  bow  is  doubly  bent  to  force  a  dart! 
Not  only  justice  vainly  we  demand ; 
But  even  benefits  can't  rein  thy  hand! 
To  this,  or  that,  alike  in  vain  we  trust ; 
Nor  find  thee  less  ungrateful  than  unjust! 

Not  even  Youth  and  Beauty  can  control 
The  universal  rancour  of  thy  Soul ! 
Charms  that  might  soften  Superstition's  rage ! 
Miofht  humble  Pride !    or  thaw  the  ice  of  Aee ! 
But  how  shouldst  thou  by  Beauty's  force  be  moved  ? 
No  more  for  loving  made,  than  to  be  loved! 
It  was  the  equity  of  righteous  Heaven, 
That  such  a  Soul,  to  such  a  Form  was  given ; 
And  shews  the  uniformity  of  Fate, 
That  one  so  odious,  should  be  born  to  hate! 

When  GOD  created  thee,  one  would  believe 

^  See  Taste,  an  Epistle. 


Lady  Mary  IV.  Mojttagtt,  &  John,  Lord  Hervey. 

He  said  the  same  as  to  the"  snake,  of  Eve. 

*  To  Human  Race  antipathy  declare ! 

Betwixt  them  and  thee  be  everlasting  war!' 

But,  O,  the  sequel  of  the  sentence  dread! 

And  whilst  you  bruise  their  heel,  beware  your  head ! 

Nor  think  thy  weakness  shall  be  thy  defence! 
(The  female  Scold's  protection  in  offence !) 
Sure,  'tis  as  fair  to  beat  who  cannot  fight, 
As  'tis  to  libel  those  who  cannot  write ! 
And  if  thou  draw'st  thy  pen,  to  aid  the  law ; 
Others  a  cudgel,  or  a  rod,  may  draw ! 

If  none,  with  vengeance  yet  thy  crimes  pursue. 
Or  give  thy  manifold  affronts  their  due ; 
If  limbs  unbroken,  skin  without  a  stain, 
Unwhipped,  unblanketed,  unkicked,  unslain. 
That  wretched  little  carcase  you  retain ; 
The  reason  is,  not  that  the  World  wants  eyes; 
But  thou'rt  so  mean !    They  see ;    and  they  despise 

When  fretful  porcupines,  with  rancorous  will, 
From  mounted  backs  shoot  forth  a  harmless  quill. 
Cool  the  spectators  stand ;    and,  all  the  while. 
Upon  the  angry  little  monster  smile  ! 
Thus  'tis  with  thee  !   whilst  impotently  safe. 
You  strike  unwounding ;   we  unhurt  can  laugh  ! 
Who  but  must  laugh,  this  bully  when  he  sees; 
A  little  insect  shiv'ring  at  a  breeze  ! 
One  overmatched  by  ev'ry  blast  of  wind. 
Insulting  and  provoking  all  Mankind  ! 

Is  this,  the  Thing  to  keep  Mankind  in  awe  ? 
To  make  those  '  tremble,  who  escape  the  law '  ? 
154 


Lady  Mary  W.  Montagu,  &  yoJin,  Lord  Hervey. 

Is  this,  the  ridicule  to  live  so  long, 

The  deathless  Satire,  and  immortal  Song  ? 

No !     Like  thy  self-blown  praise,  thy  scandal  flies  ; 

And,  as  we're  told  of  wasps,  it  stings  and  dies. 

If  none  do  yet  return  th'  intended  blow  ; 
You,  all  your  safety  to  our  dullness  owe  ! 
But  whilst  that  armour,  thy  poor  corpse  defends ; 
'Twill  make  thy  readers  few,  as  are  thy  friends ! 

Those  who  thy  nature  loathed,  yet  loved  thy  Art, 
Who  liked  thy  head,  and  yet  abhorred  thy  heart ; 
Chose  thee,  to  read  ;    but  never  to  converse  : 
And  scorned  in  Prose,  him  whom  they  prized  in  Verse! 
Even  they,  shall  now  their  partial  error  see! 
Shall  shun  thy  Writings,  like  thy  company ! 
And  to  thy  books,  shall  ope  their  eyes  no  more 
Than  to  thy  person,  they  would  do  their  door ! 

Nor  thou  the  justice  of  the  World  disown  ; 
That  leaves  thee  thus,  an  outcast,  and  alone  ! 
For  though,  in  Law,  to  murder  be  to  kill ; 
In  Equity,  the  murder  's  in  the  will! 
Then  whilst,  with  coward  hand,  you  stab  a  name ; 
And  try,  at  least,  t'  assassinate  our  fame : 
Like  the  first  bold  Assassin's,  be  thy  lot  I 
Ne'er  be  thy  guilt  forgiven,  or  forgot! 
But  as  thou  hat'st,  be  hated  of  Mankind! 
And  with  the  emblem  of  thy  crooked  mind 
Marked  on  thy  back,  like  Cain,  by  GOD's  own  hand, 
Wander  like  him,  accursed,  through  the  land ! 


155 


IVilliam  Bedingfield. 


Young  Strephon,  by  his  folded  sheep, 

Sat  wakeful  on  the  plains. 
Love  held  his  weary  eyes  from  sleep ; 

While  silent  in  the  vale, 

The  list'ning  nightingale 
Forgot  her  own,  to  hear  his  strains. 

And  now  the  beauteous  Queen  of  Night, 

Unclouded  and  serene, 
Sheds  on  the  neighbouring  sea  her  light. 
The  neighbouring  sea  was  calm  and  bright. 
The  Shepherd  sung  inspired,  and  blessed  the  lovely 
scene. 


ig; 


*  While  the  sky  and  seas  are  shinin^^ 
See,  my  Flora's  charms  they  wear! 

Secret  Night,  my  joys  divining, 
Pleased  my  amorous  tale  to  hear. 
Smiles ;    and  softly  turns  her  Sphere ! 

While  the  sky  and  seas  are  shining  ; 
See,  my  Flora's  charms  they  wear ! ' 

Ah  !   foolish  Shepherd  !    change  thy  strain  ! 

The  lovely  scene,  false  joys  inspires  I 
For  look,  thou  fond  deluded  Swain ! 
Arising  storms  invade  the  Main; 

The  Planet  of  the  night. 

Inconstant,  from  thy  sight 
156 


IVillimi'i  Bedingfield. 


Behind  a  cloud  retires! 
Flora  is  fled !    Thou  lov'st  in  vain ! 
Ah !    fooHsh  Strephon  !   change  thy  strain ! 

Hope  beguiling, 
Like  the  morn  and  ocean  smiling, 
Does  thy  easy  faith  betray! 
Flora  ranging, 
Like  the  morn  and  ocean  changing. 
More  inconstant  proves  than  they  I 


APOLLO  AND  DAPHNE, 

Daphne,  the  beautiful  and  coy, 
Along  the  winding  shore  of  Peneus  flew, 

To  shun  Love's  tender  offered  joy ; 
Though  'twas  a  God  that  did  her  charms  pursue  : 
While  thus  Apollo,  in  a  moving  strain, 
Awaked  his  lyre ;  and  softly  breathed  his  amorous  pain. 

*  Fairest  mortal !    stay  and  hear ! 
Cannot  Love  with  Music  joined 
Touch  thy  unrelenting  mind! 
Turn  thee  !     Leave  thy  trembling  fear ! 
Fairest  mortal !    stay  and  hear ! ' 
The  river's  echoing  banks,  with  pleasure  did  prolong 
The  sweetly  measured  sounds ;   and  murmured  with 


a  Songf. 

o 


'57 


William  Bedingfield. 


Daphne  fled  swifter,  in  despair, 
To  shun  the  God's  embrace; 
And  to  the  Genius  of  the  place, 

She  sighed  this  wondrous  prayer. 


*  Father  Peneus  !    hear  me  !    aid  me  ! 
Let  some  sudden  change  invade  me ! 

Fix  me  rooted  on  thy  shore  ! 
Cease,  Apollo  !    to  persuade  me ! 

I  am  Daphne  now  no  more ! ' 


Apollo  wond'ring  stood,  to  see 

The  Nymph  transformed  into  a  tree ! 
Vain  were  his  lyre,  his  voice,  his  tuneful  art. 

His  Passion,  and  his  race  divine ! 
Nor  could  th'  eternal  beams,  that  round  his  temples 
shine. 

Melt  the  cold  Virgin's  frozen  heart! 


Nature  alone  can  love  inspire ! 

Art  is  vain  to  move  desire  ! 

If  Nature  does  the  Fair  incline, 
To  their  own  Passion  they'll  resign ! 

Nature  alone  can  love  inspire! 

Art  is  vain  to  move  desire ! 


158 


yohn  Gay. 


THE  SONG  OF  POL  YPHEMUS. 

O,  RUDDIER  than  the  cherry! 

O,  sweeter  than  the  berry! 
O,  Nymph  more  bright 
Than  moonshine  night! 

Like  kidhngs  bHthe  and  merry ! 

Ripe  as  the  melting  cluster! 
No  lily  has  such  lustre! 

Yet  hard  to  tame 

As  raging  flame ; 
And  fierce  as  storms  that  bluster! 


THE  POET  AND  THE  ROSE. 

*  Go,  rose,  my  Chloe's  bosom  grace ! 

How  happy  should  I  prove. 
Might  I  supply  that  envied  place 

With  never-fading  love ! 
There,   Phoenix-like,  beneath  her  eye. 
Involved  in  fragrance,  burn  and  die! 

*  Know,  hapless  flower !    that  thou  shalt  find 

More  fragrant  roses  there ! 
I  see  thy  with'ring  head  reclined 

With  envy  and  despair! 
One  common  fate  we  both  must  prove  I 
You  die,  with  envy;    I,  with  love!' 

159 


yohn  Gay. 


SWEET   WILLIAM'S  FAREWELL 
TO   BLACK-EYED   SUSAN. 

All  in  the  Downs  the  Fleet  was  moored, 

The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind, 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  aboard. 
'  O,  where  shall  I  my  True  Love  find  ? 
Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors !    tell  me  true. 
If  my  sweet  William  sails  among  the  crew?' 


William,  who,  high  upon  the  yard, 

Rocked  with  the  billow  to  and  fro, 
Soon  as  her  well-known  voice  he  heard, 
He  sighed,  and  cast  his  eyes  below. 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands  ; 
And,  quick  as  lightning,  on  the  deck  he  stands. 


So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air. 
Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 
(If,  chance,  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear), 
And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest. 
The  noblest  Captain  in  the  British  Fleet 
Might  envy  William's  lip,  those  kisses  sweet! 
i6o 


yohn  Gay. 


'  O,  Susan!   Susan!   lovely  Dear! 

My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain ! 
Let  me  kiss  off  that  falling  tear; 
We  only  part  to  meet  again ! 
Change  as  ye  list,  ye  winds  !   my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass,  that  still  points  to  thee! 


'  Believe  not  what  the  landmen  say ! 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind. 
They'll  tell  thee,  "Sailors,  when  away, 
In  ev'ry  port  a  Mistress  find ! " 
Yes !   Yes !   believe  them,  when  they  tell  thee  so ; 
For  thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go! 


*  If  to  far  India's  coast  we  sail, 

Thy  eyes  are  seen  in  di'monds  bright! 
Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale ! 
Thy  skin  is  ivory  so  white ! 
Thus  ev'ry  beauteous  object  that  I  view, 
Wakes  in  my  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue! 


•Though  battle  call  me  from  thy  arms; 

Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn ! 
Though  cannons  roar  ;    yet,  safe  from  harms, 
William  shall  to  his  Dear  return ! 
Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly. 
Lest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's  eye 

BRIT.  ANTH.   VIII.  M  lOI 


yohn  Gay. 


The  Boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word : 

The  sails  their  spreading  bosom  spread. 
No  longer  must  she  stay  aboard. 

They  kissed.     She  sighed.     He  hung  his  head. 
Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land. 
'  Adieu ! '   she  cries ;  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 


'TwAs  when  the  seas  were  roaring 

With  hollow  blasts  of  wind, 
A  Damsel  lay  deploring, 

All  on  a  rock  reclined. 
Wide  o'er  the  rolling  billows 

She  cast  a  wistful  look ; 
Her  head  was  crowned  with  willows 

That  tremble  o'er  the  brook. 


'Twelve  months  are  gone  and  over, 

And  nine  long  tedious  days; 
Why  didst  thou,  vent'rous  Lover! 

Why  didst  thou  trust  the  seas  ? 
Cease,  cease,  thou  cruel  ocean ! 

And  let  my  Lover  rest ! 
Ah !   what  's  thy  troubled  motion 

To  that  within  my  breast  .'* 
162 


yohn  Gay. 

'  The  merchant,  robbed  of  pleasure, 

Sees  tempests  in  despair; 
But  what  's  the  loss  of  treasure 

To  losing  of  my  Dear ! 
Should  you,  some  coast  be  laid  on, 

Where  gold  and  di'monds  grow, 
You'd  find  a  richer  Maiden  ; 

But  none  that  loves  you  so! 


*  How  can  they  say,  That  Nature 

Has  nothing  made  in  vain  ? 
Why  then,  beneath  the  water, 

Should  hideous  rocks  remain  ? 
No  eyes  the  rocks  discover. 

That  lurk  beneath  the  deep, 
To  wreck  the  wand'ring  Lover; 

And  leave  the  Maid  to  weep!' 


All  melancholy  lying, 

Thus  wailed  She  for  her  Dear; 
Repaid  each  blast  with  sighing, 

Each  billow  with  a  tear. 
When,  o'er  the  white  wave  stooping, 

His  floating  corpse  she  spied ; 
Then,  like  a  lily  drooping. 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  died. 


M  2  163 


yohn  Gay. 


DAPHNIS  AND     CHLOE. 

Daphnis  stood  pensive  in  the  shade, 
With  arms  across  and  head  reclined; 

Pale  looks  accused  the  cruel  Maid, 
And  sig^hs  relieved  his  love-sick  mind. 

His  tuneful  pipe  all  broken  lay. 

Looks,  sighs,  and  actions  seemed  to  say, 
'  My  Chloe  is  unkind  ! ' 


*  Why  ring  the  woods  with  warbling  throats  ? 

Ye  larks,  ye  linnets,  cease  your  strains  ! 
I  faintly  hear,  in  your  sweet  notes. 

My  Chloe's  voice,  that  wakes  my  pains. 
Yet  why  should  you,  your  song  forbear  } 
Your  mates  delight  your  Song  to  hear; 
But  Chloe  mine  disdains!' 


As  thus  he  melancholy  stood, 

Dejected  as  the  lonely  dove, 
Sweet  sounds  broke  gently  through  the  wood. 

'  I  feel  the  sound !     My  heart-strings  move ! 
'Twas  not  the  nightingale  that  sung! 
No !     'Tis  my  Chloe's  sweeter  tongue ! 

Hark!    Hark!   What  says  my  Love?' 
164 


yohn  Gay. 


Hoiv  foolish  is  the  Nymph,  she  cries, 
Who  trijies  with  her  Lover  s  pain  ! 

Nature  still  speaks  in  Woman  s  eyes ; 
Oitr  artful  lips  were  made  to  feign  ! 

O,  Daphnis  !   Daphnis  !   'twas  my  pride  ! 

^Twas  not  my  heart,  thy  love  denied ! 
Come  back,  dear  Youth  !   again  / 


As  t'  other  day  my  hand  he  seized, 
My  blood  with  thrilling  motion  flew  ! 

Sudden,  I  put  on  looks  displeased ; 
And  hasty  from  his  hold  withdrew  / 

'  Twas  fear  alone,  thou  simple  Swain  ! 

Then,  hadst  thou  pressed  my  hand  again ^ 
My  heart  had  yielded  too  / 


'Tis  true,  thy  tuneful  reed  I  blariied ! 
That  swelled  thy  lip  and  rosy  cheek. 
Think  not  thy  skill  in  Song  defamed ; 
That  lip  should  other  pleasures  seek  ! 
Much,  much,  thy  music  I  approve  ; 
Yet  break  thy  pipe  I  for  more  I  love. 
Much  more,  to  hear  thee  speak  ! 

165 


yohn  Gay. 


My  heart  forebodes  that  Fin  betrayed! 

Daphnis,  I  fear,  is  ever  gone  ! 
Last  night,  with  Delia's  dog  he  played. 

Love  by  such  trifles  first  cojnes  on  I 
Now,  now,  dear  Shepherd  I   come  away ! 
My  tongue  would  now  my  heart  obey  I 
Ah  !   Chloe  I   thou  art  won  ! 


The  Youth  stepped  forth,  with  hasty  pace, 
And  found  where  wishing  Chloe  lay. 

Shame  sudden  lightened  in  her  face ; 
Confused,  she  knew  not  what  to  say. 

At  last,  in  broken  words,  she  cried. 

To  morrow,  you,  in  vain,  had  tried ; 
But  I  am  lost  to-day  ! 


MY  OWN  EPITAPH. 

Life  is  a  jest;    and  all  things  show  it! 
I  thought  so  once ;    but,  now,  I  know  it ! 


i66 


yohn  Gay. 


MOLLY  MOG; 

OR, 

The  fair  Maid  of  the  Inn. 

Says  my  uncle,  *  I  pray  you,  discover 

What  hath  been  the  cause  of  your  woes  ? 

Why  you  pine,  and  you  whine,  Hke  a  Lover  ? ' 
*I  have  seen  Molly  Mog  of  the  Rosel  .  .  . 


*  I  know  that  by  Wits  'tis  recited, 
*'  That  women,  at  best,  are  a  clog ! " 

But  I  am  not  so  easily  frighted 
From  loving  of  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


*  The  Schoolboy's  desire  is  Play  Day, 
The  Schoolmaster's  joy  is  to  flog, 

The  Milkmaid's  delight  is  on  May  Day; 
But  mine  is  on  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


*Will-a-wisp  leads  the  traveller  a  gadding 

Through  ditch,  and  through  quagmire  and  bog; 

But  no  light  can  set  me  a  madding, 

Like  the  eyes  of  my  sweet  Molly  Mog  ! 

167 


yohn  Gay. 


'  For  guineas  in  other  men's  breeches, 
Your  Gamesters  will  palm,  and  will  cog 

But  I  envy  them  none  of  their  riches. 
So  I  may  win  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


'The  heart,  when  half-wounded,  is  changing; 

It  here  and  there  leaps  Hke  a  frog! 
But  my  heart  can  never  be  ranging, 

'Tis  so  fixed  upon  sweet  Molly  Mog  ! 


*  Who  follows  all  Ladies  of  Pleasure, 
In  pleasure  is  thought  but  a  hog! 

All  the  Sex  cannot  give  so  good  measure 
Of  joys  as  my  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


'  I  feel,  I'm  in  love  to  distraction ! 

My  senses  all  lost  in  a  fog  I 
And  nothing"  can  gfive  satisfaction 

But  thinking  of  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


*  A  letter  when   I  am  inditing, 

Comes  Cupid,  and  gives  me  a  jog ! 
And  I  fill  all  the  paper  with  writing 


or  nothing  but  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


i68 


yoJin  Gay. 

'If  I  would  not  give  up  the  three  Graces; 

I  wish  I  w^ere  hanged  like  a  dog ! 
And  at  Court,  all  the  Drawing  Room  faces ; 

For  a  glance  of  my  sweet  Molly  Mog! 

'  Those  faces  want  nature  and  spirit, 
And  seem  as  cut  out  of  a  log ! 

Juno's,  Venus',  and  Pallas'  merit 
Unite  in  my  sweet  Molly  Mog! 


'Those  who  toast  all  the  Family  Royal 

In  bumpers  of  Hogan  and  Nog, 
Have  hearts  not  more  true,  or  more  loyal, 

Than  mine  to  my  sweet  Molly  Mog. 

'Were  Virgil  alive,  with  his  Phillis, 

And  writing  another  Eclogue, 
Both  his  Phillis  and  fair  Amaryllis 

He'd  give  up  for  sweet  Molly  Mog! 

'  When  she  smiles  on  each  guest,  like  her  liquor, 

Then  jealousy  sets  me  agog! 
To  be  sure,  she  's  a  bit  for  the  Vicar; 

And  so  I  shall  lose  Molly  Mog!' 


169 


yohn  Gay. 


SONGS  FROM  '  THE  BEGGAR'S  OPERA, 

Youth  's  the  season  made  for  joys! 

Love  is  then  our  duty! 
She  alone  who  that  employs, 
Well  deserves  her  beauty! 
Let  's  be  gay, 
While  we  may! 
Beauty  's  a  flower,  despised  in  decay ! 
Chorus.    Youth  's  the  season  made  for  joys!   &c. 

Let  us  drink  and  sport  to-day! 

Ours  is  not  to-morrow! 
Love,  with  Youth,  flies  swift  away ! 
Age  is  nought  but  sorrow ! 
Dance  and  sing! 
Time  's  on  the  wing! 
Life  never  knows  the  return  of  Spring ! 
Chorus.    Let  us  drink  and  sport  to-day!    &c. 


Macheath's  Song. 

How  happy  could  I  be  with  either, 

Were  t'  other  dear  Charmer  away ! 
But  while  you  thus  tease  me  together; 
To  neither  a  word  will  I  say ! 

But  tol  de  rol,  tol  de  rol,  &c. 
170  


John  Gay. 


Polly's  Song. 

Cease  your  funning! 

Force,  or  cunning, 
Never  shall  my  heart  trepan! 

All  these  sallies 

Are  but  malice, 
To  seduce  my  constant  man! 

'Tis  most  certain, 

By  their  flirting, 
Women  oft  have  envy  shown ; 

Pleased  to  ruin 

Others   wooing; 
Never  happy  in  their  own! 


LocKiT^s  Song. 

When  you  censure  the  Age, 

Be  cautious  and  sage ; 
Lest  the  Courtiers  offended  should  be ! 

If  you  mention  Vice,  or  Bribe, 

'Tis  so  pat  to  all  the  tribe, 
Each  cries,  '  That  was  levelled  at  me ! ' 


171 


Thomas  Tickell. 


COLIN  AND  LUCY. 

Of  Leinster,  famed  for  Maidens  fair, 

Bright  Lucy  was  the  Grace ; 
Nor  e'er  did  Liffey's  limpid  stream 

Reflect  a  fairer  face, 
Till  luckless  love  and  pining  care 

Impaired  her  rosy  hue, 
Her  dainty  lip,  her  damask  cheek, 

And  eyes  of  glossy  blue. 

Ah !   have  you  seen  a  lily  pale, 

When  beating  rains  descend  ? 
So  drooped  this  slow-consuming  Maid, 

Her  life  now  near  its  end. 
By  Lucy  warned ;    of  flattering  Swains 

Take  heed,  ye  easy  Fair ! 
Of  vengeance  due  to  broken  vows, 

Ye  flatt'ring  Swains,  beware ! 

Three  times,  all  in  the  dead  of  night, 

A  bell  was  heard  to  ring ; 
And  at  her  window,  shrieking  thrice, 

The  raven  flapped  his  wing. 
Full  well  the  love-lorn  Maiden  knew 

The  solemn  boding  sound ; 
And  thus,  in  dying  words,  bespoke 

The  virgins  weeping  round. 
172 


Thomas  Tickell. 


*  I  hear  a  voice,  you  cannot  hear, 

That  cries,   I  must  not  stay! 
I  see  a  hand,  you  cannot  see, 

That  beckons  me  away ! 
Of  a  false  Swain,  and  broken  heart. 

In  early  youth  I  die ! 
Am  I  to  blame,  because  the  Bride 

Is  thrice  as  rich  as  I  ? 


*  Ah  !  Colin  !     Give  not  her  thy  vows ! 

Vows  due  to  me  alone ! 
Nor  thou,  rash  Girl !    return  his  kiss ; 

Nor  think  him  all  thy  own ! 
To-morrow  in  the  Church  to  wed. 

Impatient  both  prepare ! 
But  know,  false  Man!  and  know,  fond  Maid! 

Poor  Lucy  will  be  there! 


'Then  bear  my  corse,  ye  comrades  dear! 

This  Bridegroom  blithe  to  meet: 
He  in  his  wedding  trim  so  gay; 

I  in  my  winding  sheet ! ' 
She  spoke.     She  died.     Her  corse  was  borne 

The  Bridegroom  blithe  to  meet: 
He  in  his  wedding  trim  so  gay; 

She  in  her  winding  sheet. 

173 


Thomas  Tickell. 


What  then  were  Colin's  dismal  thoughts  ? 

How  were  these  nuptials  kept  ? 
The  bridesmen  flock  round  Lucy  dead, 

And  all  the  village  wept. 
Confusion,  shame,  remorse,  despair, 

At  once  his  bosom  swell : 
The  damps  of  death  bedewed  his  brow. 

He  groaned.     He  shook.     He  fell. 

From  the  vain  Bride  (a  Bride  no  more !) 

The  varying  crimson  fled. 
When,  stretched  before  her  rival's  corse 

She  saw  her  Lover  dead. 
He  to  his  Lucy's  new-made  grave, 

Conveyed  by  trembling  Swains, 
In  the  same  mould,  beneath  one  sod, 

For  ever  now  remains. 


Oft,  at  this  place,  the  constant  Hind 

And  plighted  Maid  are  seen ; 
With  garlands  gay,  and  True-Love  Knots, 

To  deck  the  sacred  green. 
But  Swain  forsworn,  whoe'er  thou  art ! 

This  hallowed  spot  forbear! 
Remember  Colin's  dreadful  fate; 

And  fear  to  meet  him  there! 


174 


Edward  Ward. 


A  SOUTH  SEA  BALLAD, 
OR  Merry  Remarks  upon  Exchange  Alley  Bubbles. 

In  London  stands  a  famous  Pile, 

And  near  that  Pile  an  Alley; 
Where  merry  crowds  for  riches  toil, 

And  Wisdom  stoops  to  Folly. 
Here,  sad  and  joyful,  high  and  low. 

Court  Fortune  for  her  graces; 
And  as  she  smiles,  or  frowns,  they  show 

Their  gestures  and  grimaces. 

Here,  Stars  and  Garters  do  appear 

Among  our  lords  the  rabble ; 
To  buy  and  sell,  to  see  and  hear 

The  Jews  and  Gentiles  squabble. 
Here,  crafty  Courtiers  are  too  wise 

For  those  who  trust  to  Fortune! 
They  see  the  cheat,  with  clearer  eyes, 

Who  peep  behind  the  curtain!  .  .  . 

Long  Heads  may  thrive,  by  sober  rules; 

Because  they  think,  and  drink  not! 
But  Headlongs  are  our  thriving  fools; 

Who  only  drink,  and  think  not! 
The  lucky  rogues,  like  spaniel  dogs, 

Leap  into  South  Sea  water ; 
And  there  they  fish  for  golden  frogs ; 

Not  caring  what  comes  after. 

175 


Edward  Ward. 


'Tis  said,  that  alchemists  of  old 

Could  turn  a  brazen  kettle, 
Or  leaden  cistern,  into  gold ; 

That  noble  tempting  metal. 
But  (if  it  here  may  be  allowed, 

To  bring  in  great  with  small  things) 
Our  cunning  South  Sea,  like  a  God, 

Turns  Nothing  into  All  Things ! 


What  need  have  we  of  Indian  wealth, 

Or  commerce  with  our  neighbours! 
Our  Constitution  is  in  health ; 

And  riches  crown  our  labours ! 
Our  South  Sea  ships  have  golden  shrouds! 

They  bring  us  wealth,  'tis  granted: 
But  lodofe  their  treasure  in  the  clouds, 

To  hide  it,  till  it  's  wanted ! 


O,  Britain!   bless  thy  present  state! 

Thou  only  happy  nation! 
So  oddly  rich,  so  madly  great. 

Since  Bubbles  came  in  fashion! 
Successful  Rakes  exert  their  pride, 

And  count  their  airy  millions ; 
Whilst  homely  Drabs,  in  coaches  ride. 

Brought  up  to  Town  on  pillions. 
176 


Edward  IVard. 


Few  men  who  follow  Reason's  rules, 

Grow  fat  with  South  Sea  diet ! 
Young  Rattles  and  unthinking  fools 

Are  those  that  flourish  by  it ! 
Old  musty  Jades,  and  pushing  Blades, 

Who've  least  consideration, 
Grow  rich  apace ;    while  wiser  heads 

Are  struck  with  admiration. 


A  race  of  men,  who,  t'  other  day, 

Lay  crushed  beneath  disasters, 
Are  now,  by  Stock,  brought  into  play; 

And  made  our  lords  and  masters. 
But  should  our  South  Sea  Babel  fall. 

What  numbers  would  be  frowninof ! 
The  losers  then  must  ease  their  gall 

By  hanging,  or  by  drowning ! 

Five  Hundred  Millions,  Notes  and  Bonds, 

Our  Stocks  are  worth  in  value : 
But  neither  lie  in  goods,  or  lands, 

Or  money,  let  me  tell  ye ! 
Yet  though  our  foreign  trade  is  lost; 

Of  mighty  wealth  we  vapour! 
When  all  the  riches  that  we  boast 

Consist  of  scraps  of  paper! 


BRIT.    ANTH.    VIII.  N  177 


Anonymous. 


WILLIAM  AND  MARGARET. 
An  old  Ballad. 

When  all  was  wrapped  in  dark  midnight, 

And  all  were  fast  asleep ; 
In  glided  Margaret's  grimly  ghost, 

And  stood  at  William's  feet 

Her  face  was  like  the  April  morn 

Clad  in  a  wintry  cloud  ; 
And  clay-cold  was  her  lily  hand. 

That  held  the  sable  shroud. 

So  shall  the  fairest  face  appear, 
When  youth  and  years  are  flown  ; 

Such  is  the  robe  that  Kings  must  wear. 
When  Death  has  reft  their  crown. 

Her  bloom  was  like  the  springing  flower, 

That  sips  the  silver  dew ; 
The  rose  was  budded  in  her  cheek, 

And  opening  to  the  view : 

But  Love  had,  like  the  canker  worm, 

Consumed  her  early  prime ; 
The  rose  grew  pale,  and  left  her  cheek. 

She  died  before  her  time! 
178 


Anonymons. 


*  Awake ! '  she  cried,  '  thy  True  Love  calls ! 

Come  from  her  midnight  grave ; 
Now,  let  thy  pity  hear  the  Maid, 
Thy  love  refused  to  save ! 

*  This  is  the  mirk  and  fearful  hour, 

When  injured  ghosts  complain  ; 
And  dreary  graves  give  up  their  dead. 
To  haunt  the  faithless  Swain. 

'  Bethink  thee,  William  !    of  thy  fault, 

Thy  pledge,  and  broken  oath ! 
And  give  me  back  my  maiden  vow ; 

And  give  me  back  my  troth ! 

'  How  could  you  say,  my  face  was  fair ; 

And  yet  that  face  forsake  ? 
How  could  you  win  my  virgin  heart ; 

Yet  leave  that  heart  to  break  ? 

'  How^  could  you  promise  love  to  me ; 

And  not  that  promise  keep  ? 
Why  did  you  swear,  mine  eyes  were  bright ; 

Yet  leave  those  eyes  to  weep  ? 

*  How  could  you  say,  my  lip  was  sweet, 

And  made  the  scarlet  pale  ? 
And  why  did  I,  young  witless  Maid! 
Believe  the  flattering  tale  ? 

N  2  179 


Anonymous. 


*  That  face,  alas !    no  more  is  fair ; 

These  lips,  no  longer  red  ; 
Dark  are  mine  eyes,  now  closed  in  death ; 
And  every  charm  is  fled  ! 

*  The  hungry  worm,  my  sister  is ! 

This  winding:  sheet  I  wear  ! 
And  cold  and  weary  lasts  our  night, 
Till  that  at  Last  Morn  appear! 

'  But,  hark !     The  cock  has  warned  me  hence  ! 

A  long  and  last  Adieu ! 
Come,  see,  false  man  !    how  low  she  lies, 

That  died  for  love  of  you  ! ' 

Now,  birds  did  sing,  and  Morning  smile 

And  shew  her  glistening  head  ; 
Pale  William  shook  in  ev'ry  limb ; 

Then,  raving,  left  his  bed. 

He  hied  him  to  the  fatal  place. 

Where  Margaret's  body  lay ; 
And  stretched  him  on  the  green  grass  turf. 

That  wrapped  her  breathless  clay. 

And  thrice  he  called  on  Margaret's  name! 

And  thrice  he  wept  full  sore ! 
Then  laid  his  cheek  to  the  cold  earth ; 

And  word  spake  never  more. 


1 80 


Allan  Ramsay. 


Give  me  a  Lass  with  a  lump  of  land ; 

And  we,  for  life,  shall  gang  together! 
Foolish,  or  wise,  I'll  ne'er  demand! 

Or  black,  or  white,  it  makes  not  whether! 

I'm  off  with  Wit  I   and  Beauty  will  fade ! 

And  Blood  alone  is  not  worth  a  shilling ! 
But  she  that 's  rich,  her  market  's  made ; 

For  ev'ry  charm  about  her  is  killing! 

Give  me  a  Lass  with  a  lump  of  land ; 

And,  in  my  bosom,  I'll  hug  my  treasure ! 
If  I  had  once  her  gold  in  my  hand; 

Should  love  turn  dead,  it  will  find  pleasure ! 

Laugh  on  who  likes ;    but  there  's  my  hand ! 

I  hate,  with  poortith,  though  bonny,  to  meddle! 
Unless  they  bring  cash,  or  a  lump  of  land  ; 

They'se  never  get  me  to  dance  to  their  fiddle ! 

There  's  meikle  good  love  in  bands  and  bags  ! 

And  silver  and  gold  's  a  sweet  complexion! 
But  Beauty,  and  Wit,  and  Virtue,  in  rags, 

Have  lost  the  art  of  gaining  affection! 

Love  tips  his  arrows  with  woods  and  parks, 

And  castles,  and  riggs,  and  moors,  and  meadows; 

And  nothing  can  catch  our  modern  Sparks 

But  well-tochered  Lasses,  or  jointured  W^idows! 

i8i 


Allan  Ramsay. 


BONNY  CHRISTY, 

*  How  sweetly  smells  the  simmer  green  ! 

Sweet  taste  the  peach  and  cherry! 
Painting  and  Order  please  our  een ; 

And  Claret  makes  us  merry! 
But  finest  colours,  fruits,  and  flowers, 

And  wine,  though  I  be  thirsty. 
Lose  a'  their  charms  and  weaker  powers 

Compared  with  those  of  Christy  ! 

'When  wand'ring  o'er  the  flow'ry  Park, 

No  nat'ral  beauty  wanting  ; 
How  lightsome  is  't  to  hear  the  lark, 

And  birds  in  consort  chanting;! 
But  if  my  Christy  tunes  her  voice, 

I'm  rapt  in  admiration  ! 
My  thoughts  with  ecstasies  rejoice, 

And  drap  the  hale  creation! 

'  Whene'er  she  smiles  a  kindly  glance, 

I  take  the  happy  omen ; 
And  aften  mint  to  make  advance, 

Hoping  she'll  prove  a  woman  : 
But,  dubious  of  my  ain  desert. 

My  sentiments  I  smother  : 
With  secret  sighs  I  vex  my  heart, 

For  fear  she  love  another.' 
182 


Allan  Ramsay, 


Thus  sang  blate  Edie  by  a  burn. 

His  Christy  did  o'erhear  him : 
She  doughtna  let  her  Lover  mourn ; 

But,  ere  he  wist,  drew  near  him. 
She  spake  her  favour  with  a  look. 

Which  left  nae  room  to  doubt  her. 
He  wisely  his  white  minute  took; 

And  flang  his  arms  about  her. 


*£> 


'  My  Christy  !     Witness,  bonny  stream ! 

Sic  joys  frae  tears  arising! 
I  wish  this  may  na  be  a  dream  ! 

O,  love  the  maist  surprising ! ' 
Time  was  too  precious  now  for  tauk ! 

This  point  of  a   his  wishes, 
He  wadna  with  set  speeches  bauk; 

But  wair'd  it  a   on  kisses. 


THE  POET  S   WISH. 

Quid  dedicatiim  poscit  Apollinem 
Vates  f 


HOR. 


'  Frae  great  Apollo,   Poet  say. 

What  is  thy  wish  ?     What  wadst  thou  hae, 

When  thou  bows  at  his  shrine  ? ' 
Not  Carse  o'  Cowrie's  fertile  field ; 
Nor  a'  the  flocks  the  Grampians  yield, 

That  are  baith  sleek  and  fine  : 

183 


Allan  Ramsay. 


Not  costly  things  brought  frae  afar, 

As  ivory,  pearl,  and  gems ; 
Nor  those  fair  Straths,  that  water'd  are 
With  Tay  and  Tweed's  smooth  streams; 
Which  gentily  and  daintily 
Eat  down  the  flow'ry  braes, 
As  greatly  and  quietly 
They  wimple  to  the  seas. 


'Whaever,  by  his  canny  fate, 
Is  master  of  a  good  estate, 
That  can  ilk  thing  afford, 
Let  him  enjoy  't  withoutten  care  ; 
And  with  the  wale  of  curious  fare 

Cover  his  ample  board  ! 
Much  dawted  by  the  Gods  is  he, 

Wha  to  the  Indian  plain 
Successfu'  ploughs  the  wally  sea ; 
And  safe  returns  aeain 

With  riches,  that  hitches 
Him  high  aboon  the  rest 
Of  sma'  folk,  and  a'  folk 
That  are  wi'  poortith  prest. 


*  For  me,   I  can  be  well  content 
To  eat  my  bannock  on  the  bent, 

And  kitchen  't  wi'  fresh  air ! 
Of  lang  kail  I  can  make  a  feast; 
184 


Allan  Ramsay. 


And  cantily  had  up  my  crest, 

And  laugh  at  dishes  rare  ! 
Nought  frae  Apollo  I  demand 
But,  throw  a  lengthen'd  life. 
My  outer  fabric  firm  may  stand, 
And  saul  clear  without  strife  ! 

May  he  then  but  gie  then 
Those  blessings  for  my  skair 
I'll  fairly  and  squairly 
Quite  a',  and  seek  nae  mair! 


777^  RESPONSE  OF  THE  ORACLE. 

To  keep  thy  saul  frae  puny  strife, 
And  heeze  thee  out  of  vulgar  life ; 

We,  in  a  morning  dream, 
Whispered  Our  Will  concerning  thee 
To  Marlus,  stretch'd  beneath  a  tree, 

Hard  by  a  poppling  stream. 
He,  full  of  me,  shall  point  the  way, 

Where  thou  a  Star  shalt  see! 

The  influence  of  whose  bright  ray 

Shall  wing  thy  Muse  to  flee. 

Mair  speer  na !    and  fear  na  ; 
But  set  thy  mind  to  rest ! 
Aspire  ay  still  high'r,  ay ! 
And  always  hope  the  best ! 


185 


Nicholas  Anihttrst. 


THE    TEST  OF  LOVE. 

To  A  Friend,   who  fancied  himself  in  love. 

Oft  hast  thou  told  me,  Dick!    in  friendly  part, 
That  the  usurper  Love  has  seized  thy  heart, 
But  thou  art  young!   and,  like  our  sanguine  race 
In  their  full  vigour,  mayst  mistake  thy  case  ! 
For,  trust  me!    Love,  that  inmate  of  the  mind, 
Is  very  much  mistaken  by  Mankind! 
For  which,  too  often,  is  misunderstood 
The  sudden  rage  and  madness  of  the  blood. 

Thus,  every  common  Rake  his  flame  approves ; 

And  when  he  's  lewd  and  rampant,  thinks  he  loves 


But  I,  who  in  that  study  am  grown  old. 
Will  to  my  friend  such  certain  Marks  unfold; 
By  which  a  real   Passion  he  may  prove  ; 
And,  without  which,  he  cannot  truly  love. 


How  does  this  tyrant  lord  it  in  thy  mind  ? 
What  symptoms  of  his  empire  dost  thou  find  ? 
Dost  thou  within  perceive  the  growing  wound  ? 
Does  thy  soul  sicken,  while  thy  body  's  sound  ? 
Does,  in  thy  thought,  some  blooming  Beauty  reign 
Whose  strong   Idea  mingles  joy  with  pain  ? 
i86 


Nicholas  Am  hurst. 


When  She  appears  before  thee,  does  She  spread 
O'er  thy  pale,  fading  cheeks,  a  sudden  red  ? 
Press  her  soft  lips,  or  touch  her  Hlied  hand ; 
Does  thy  heart  flutter  ?    does  thy  breast  expand  ? 
If  but  her  name  is  mentioned,  does  it  fire 
Thy  pulses  with  a  quick  and  fierce  desire  ? 
Does  every  glance,  like  Jove's  vindictive  flame. 
Shoot  through  thy  veins,  and  kindle  all  thy  frame  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove! 

For  he  who  wants  these  Symptoms,  does  not  love  1 

Is  to  One  woman  all  your  heart  inclined  ? 
And  can  She  only  charm  your  constant  mind  ? 
For  her,  do  all  your  morning  wishes  rise  ? 
Does  She,  at  night,  of  slumber  rob  your  eyes  ? 
Musing  on  her,  does  She  alone  excite 
Your  thoughts  by  day,  and  all  your  dreams  by  night  ? 
Or  does  your  heart  for  every  Nymph  you  meet, 
Own  a  new  Passion,  and  as  strongly  beat  ? 
Do,  in  your  eyes,  all  women  seem  the  same ; 
And  each  new  face  expel  the  former  flame  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

If  you  love  more  than  One,  you  do  not  love  ! 

Does  Love,  and  only  Love,  invade  your  heart  ? 
Or  is  it  stricken  with  a  golden  dart  ? 
Does  the  keen  arrow  from  her  beauty  fly  ? 
Or  does  her  fortune  glitter  in  your  eye  ? 
For,  in  this  Age,  how  seldom  is  it  found 

187 


Nicholas  Amhitrst. 


That  Love  alone  inflicts  the  secret  wound ! 
Silver  and  Gold  are  Cupid's  surest  Arms! 
One  Thousand  Pounds  outweighs  ten  thousand  charms! 
But  art  thou  sure,  that  in  thy  tender  heart 
These  worldly  baubles  bear  no  sordid  part  ? 
And  canst  thou  say,  sincerely  canst  thou  say, 
Should  adverse  fortune  on  thy  Charmer  prey. 
That  still  unchanged  thy  Passion  would  remain  ? 
That  still  thou  wouldst  abide  a  faithful  Swain  ? 
If  in  the  cursed  South  Sea  her  all  were  lost. 
Still  would  her  eyes,  their  former  conquests  boast  ? 
And  would  She,  dost  thou  think !    in  every  state, 
The  same  emotions  in  thy  soul  create  ? 

From  hence,  a  real   Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  if  you  sigh  for  Wealth,  you  do  not  love  I 


Again,  my  friend,  incline  thy  patient  ear! 
For  thou  hast  many  Questions  still  to  hear. 
This  chosen  Damsel,  this  triumphant  She, 
Canst  thou  no  blemish  in  her  person  see  ? 
Her  temper,  shape,  her  features  and  her  Air 
(Though  never  yet  was  born  a  faultless  Fair!), 
Do  they  all  please  ?     In  body,  or  in  mind, 
Canst  thou  no  blot,  nor  imperfection,  find  ? 
Does  o'er  her  skin  no  mole,  nor  pimple,  rise  ; 
Or  do  e'en  these  seem  beauties  in  thy  eyes  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove! 

For  if  you  spy  one  Fault,  you  do  not  love ! 


Nicholas  Anihurst. 


Do  you,  within,  a  sudden  impulse  feel 
To  dress,  look  florid,  and  appear  genteel  ? 
Do  you  affect  to  strike  the  gazing  Maid 
With  glittering  gems,  with  velvet,  and  brocade  ? 
Your  snowy  wrists,  do  Mechlin  pendants  grace ; 
And  do  the  smartest  wigs  adorn  thy  face  ? 
Do  you  correct  your  gait,  adjust  your  Air; 
And  bid  your  tailor  take  uncommon  care  ? 
Before  your  Glass,  each  morning  do  you  stand ; 
And  tie  your  neck-cloth  with  a  critic's  hand  ? 

From  hence,  a  real   Passion  you  may  prove! 

For  Dressing  ever  was  a  mark  of  Love! 


Do  books  and  worldly  cares  no  longer  please  ? 
Can  no  diversions  give  your  heart-pains  ease  ? 
Have  Wealth  and  Honours  lost  their  wonted  charms  ; 
And  does  Ambition  yield  to  Cupid's  Arms  ? 
Is  your  whole  frame  dissolved,  by  Love  ingrost, 
To  Study,  Interest,  and  Preferment  lost  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  if  aught  else  prevails,  you  do  not  love! 


Do  all  your  thoughts,  your  wishes,  and  desires, 
Comply  with  her ;   and  burn  with  mutual  fires  ? 
If  She  loves  Balls,  Assemblies,  Operas,  Plays ; 
Do  they,  in  you  the  same  amusement  raise  ? 
If  She,  at  Ombre  loves  to  waste  the  night ; 
Do  you,  in  Ombre  take  the  same  delight  ? 

189 


Nicholas  Amhurst. 


If  to  the  Ring,  her  graceful  horses  prance ; 
Does  your  new  chariot  to  the  Ring  advance  ? 
If  in  the  Mall,  She  chooses  to  appear, 
Or  if  at  Court ;    do  you  attend  her  there  ? 
What  She  commends,  does  your  officious  tongue 
Approve  ;  and  censure  what  She  judges  wrong  ? 
Are  all  her  loves,  and  her  aversions,  thine  ? 
In  all  her  joys  and  sorrows  dost  thou  join  ? 
Art  thou,  my  friend !   united  to  her  frame ; 
Thy  heart,  thy  Passions,  and  thy  soul  the  same  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove  ! 

For  without  Sympathy,  you  cannot  love ! 


Didst  thou  e'er  strive  (once  more  kindly  say!) 
With  Friends  and  Wine  to  drive  thy  cares  away  ? 
And  have  e'en  these  endeavours  proved  in  vain  ? 
Will  neither  Friends,  nor  Wine,  remove  thy  pain  ? 
Dost  thou  sit  pensive,  full  of  thought,  repine ; 
And,  in  thy  turn,  forget  the  circling  Wine  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  if  Wine  drowns  your  flame,  you  do  not  love ! 


Art  thou  a  tame,  resigned,  submissive  Swain  ? 
Canst  thou  bear  scorn,  repulses,  and  disdain  ? 
Can  no  ill  treatment,  nor  unkind  returns, 
Ouench  the  strong  flame,  which  in  thv  marrow  burns  ? 
But  do  they  rather  aggravate  thy  smart ; 
And  give  a  quicker  edge  to  every  dart? 
190 


Nicholas  Anihiirst. 


Does  not  each  scornful  look,  or  angry  jest, 
Drive  the  keen  Passion  deeper  in  thy  breast? 
Do  not  her  poignant  questions  and  replies, 
Thy  partial  ears  agreeably  surprise  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove  ! 

For  if  you  can  resent,  you  do  not  love! 


Whole  life-long  days  you  have  enjoyed  her  sight; 
Say,  were  your  eyes  e'er  sated  with  delight  ? 
Did  not  you  wish  next  moment  to  return  ? 
Did  not  your  breast  with  stronger  ardours  burn  ? 
Did  not  each  view,  another  view  provoke  ; 
And  every  meeting  give  a  deeper  stroke  ? 

From  hence,  a  real   Passion  you  may  prove! 

For  there  is  no  Satiety  in  Love! 


Perhaps,  you  judge  it  an  imprudent  flame  ; 
And  therefore  live  at  distance  from  the  Dame. 
But  what  is  the  effect  ?     Does  absence  heal 
Those  wounds  which,  smarting  in  her  sight  you  feel  ? 
Does  not,  to  her  your  mind  unbidden  stray  ? 
Does  not  your  heart  confess  her  distant  sway  ? 
Does  not  each  rising  thought  enhance  your  pain ; 
And  don't  you  long  to  see  her  once  again  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove! 

For  that  which  Absence  cancels,  is  not  Love ! 

191 


Nicholas  Amhttrst. 


Suppose,  once  more,  your  parents,  or  your  friends, 
Either  for  peevish,  or  prudential,  ends. 
Should  thwart  thy  choice  !  thy  promised  bliss  oppose ! 
Wouldst  thou,  for  her,  engage  all  these  thy  foes  ? 
Wouldst  thou  despise  an  angry  father's  frown ; 
And  scorn  the  noisy  censures  of  the  Town  ? 
Couldst  thou,  possessed  of  her,  with  patience  see 
The  coxcomb's  finger  pointed  forth  at  thee  ? 
Would  it  not  vex  you,  as  you  pass  along, 
To  hear  the  little  spleen  of  every  tongue  ? 

*  There  goes  the  fond  young  fool ;  who,  t'  other  day, 
In  heedless  wedlock  threw  himself  away ! 
And,  to  indulge  the  rash  ungoverned  heat 
Of  a  vain   Passion,  lost  a  good  estate!' 
Would  not  such  insults  grate  thy  tender  ear? 
Couldst  thou,  besides,  without  compunction  bear 
The  scornful  smile,  and  the  disdainful  sneer  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  he  who  loves  with  Reason,  does  not  love ! 


Still  must  I   touch  thee  in  a  tenderer  part! 
Would  not  a  happy  rival  stab  thy  heart  ? 
Couldst  thou  behold  the  darling  of  thy  breast 
With  freedom  by  another  Youth  carest  ? 
Say,  couldst  thou,  to  thy  dearest  friend,  afford 
A  kiss,  a  smile,  or  one  obliging  word  ? 
Say,  at  a  Public  Ball,  or  Private  Dance, 
When  the  brisk  Couples  artfully  advance, 
Couldst  thou,  unmoved  with  indignation  stand, 
192 


Nicholas  Amhurst. 


If  to  another  She  resigned  her  hand  ? 

Would  your  heart  rest  at  ease  ?    or  would  it  swell 

With  all  the  pains,  the  sharpest  pains,  of  Hell  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  without  Jealousy,  you  cannot  love! 

To  the  last  Question  of  thy  trusty  friend 
(Though  many  more  might  still  be  asked !)  attend ! 
To  purge  her  virtue,  or  revenge  her  wrongs 
(For  Beauty  is  the  theme  of  busy  tongues !) ; 
Should  blood  be  called  for,  in  the  doubtful  strife, 
Wouldst  thou,  with  pleasure,  part  with  blood  ? — or  life? 
Wouldst  thou,  all  dangers  in  her  Cause  despise ; 
And  meet  unequal  foes,  for  such  a  prize  ? 
Would  it  not  plant  new  courage  in  thy  heart ; 
And  double  vigour  to  thy  arm  impart  ? 
To  screen  thy  Mistress  from  the  slightest  harms ; 
Wouldst   thou   not   purchase  death ;   and  would  not 
death  have  charms  ? 

From  hence,  a  real  Passion  you  may  prove ! 

For  never  yet  was  Coward  known  to  love ! 

By  these  Prescriptions  judge  your  inward  part! 
Put  all  these  Questions  closely  to  your  heart ! 
And  if,  by  them,  your  flame  you  can  approve  ; 
Then  will  I  own,  that  you  sincerely  love  ! 


BRIT.    ANTH.    VIII.  O  193 


5.  R. 


THE  BROOM  OF  COWDENKNOWS. 

How  blyth,  ilk  morn,  was  I  to  see 

The  Swain  come  o'er  the  hill ! 
He  skipt  the  burn,  and  flew  to  me ; 

I  met  him  with  good  will  ! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom, 

The  broom  of  Cowdenknows ! 
I  wish  I  were  with  my  dear  Swain, 

With  his  pipe  and  my  ews. 

I  neither  wanted  ew  nor  lamb, 

While  his  flock  near  me  lay  : 
He  gather'd  in  my  sheep  at  night; 

And  chear'd  me  a'  the  day ! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 

He  tun'd  his  pipe  and  reed  sae  sweet, 

The  birds  stood  list'ning  by : 
Even  the  dull  cattle  stood  and  gazed, 

Charm'd  with  his  melody ! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 

While  thus  we  spent  our  time  by  turns 

Between  our  flocks  and  play ; 
I  envy'd  not  the  fairest  Dame, 

Tho'  ne'er  sae  rich  and  gay! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 
194 


S.  R, 

Hard  fate !    that  I  shou'd  banish'd  be, 

Gang  heavily  and  mourn ; 
Because  I  lov'd  the  kindest  Swain 

That  ever  yet  was  born! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 


He  did  oblige  me  ev'ry  hour; 

Cou' d  I  but  faithfu'  be  ? 
He  staw  my  heart;    cou'd  I  refuse 

Whate'er  he  ask'd  of  me  ? 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 


My  doggie,  and  my  lettle  kit 

That  held  my  wee  soup  whey, 
My  plaidy,  broach,  and  crooked  stick. 

May  now  ly  useless  by ! 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 


Adieu,  ye  Ccwdenknows  !   adieu ! 

Farewell  a'  pleasures  there  ! 
Ye  Gods !    restore  to  me  my  Swain ! 

Is  a'  I  crave,  or  care. 
O,  the  broom,  the  bonny  bonny  broom,  &c. 


O    2  195 


William  Hamilton. 


*  Ye  Shepherds  of  this  pleasant  vale, 

Where  Yarrow  streams  along, 
Forsake  your  rural  toils,  and  join 

In  my  triumphant  Song! 
She  grants !    She  yields !    One  heavenly  smile 

Atones  her  long  delays! 
One  happy  minute  crowns  the  pains 

Of  many  suff'ring  days ! 

*  Raise,  raise  the  victor  notes  of  joy ! 

These  suff'ring  days  are  o'er! 
Love  satiates  now  his  boundless  wish 

From  Beauty's  boundless  store. 
No  doubtful  hopes,  no  anxious  fears, 

This  rising  calm  destroy ! 
Now  every  prospect  smiles  around, 

All  opening  into  joy ! 


*  The  sun  with  double  lustre  shone 

That  dear  consenting  hour. 
Brightened  each  hill,  and  o'er  each  vale 

New  coloured  every  flower. 
The  gales,  their  gentle  sighs  withheld ; 

No  leaf  was  seen  to  move ! 
The  hov'ring  songsters  round  were  mute; 

And  wonder  hushed  the  grove! 
196 


William  Hamilton. 


'  The  hills  and  dales  no  more  resound 

The  lambkin's  tender  cry ! 
Without  one  murmur,  Yarrow  stole 

In  dimpling  silence  by ! 
All  Nature  seemed,  in  still  repose, 

Her  voice  alone  to  hear; 
That  gently  rolled  the  tuneful  wave. 

She  spoke,  and  blessed  my  ear. 


* "  Take,  take  whate'er  of  bless,  or  joy, 

You  fondly  fancy  mine! 
Whate'er  of  joy,  or  bless,  I  boast ; 

Love  renders  wholly  thine !  " 
The  woods  struck  up,  to  the  soft  gale ; 

The  leaves  were  seen  to  move! 
The  feathered  choir  resumed  their  voice; 

And  wonder  filled  the  grove  I 


*  The  hills  and  dales  again  resound 

The  lambkin's  tender  cry, 
With  all  his  murmurs.  Yarrow  trilled 

The  Song  of  Triumph  by ! 
Above,  beneath,  around,  all  on 

Was  Verdure,  Beauty,  Song ! 
I  snatched  her  to  my  trembling  breast! 

All  Nature  joyed  along ! ' 


197 


Willia^n  Hamilton. 


*  Ye  Shepherds  and  Nymphs,  that  adorn  the  gay  plain, 
Approach  from  your  sports,  and  attend  to  my  strain  ! 
Amongst  all  your  number,  a  Lover  so  true 

Was  ne'er  so  undone,  with  such  bliss  in  his  view! 

'  Was  ever  a  Nymph  so  hard-hearted  as  mine ! 
She  knows  me  sincere ;    and  she  sees  how  I  pine ! 
She  does  not  disdain  me,  nor  frown  in  her  wrath  ; 
But  calmly  and  mildly  resigns  me  to  death ! 

'  She  calls  me  her  Friend ;   but  her  Lover  denies ! 
She  smiles,  when  I'm  cheerful ;  but  hears  not  my  sighs! 
A  bosom  so  flinty,  so  gentle  an  Air, 
Inspires  me  with  hope;   and  yet  bids  me  despair! 

'  I  fall  at  her  feet,  and  implore  her  with  tears ; 
Her  answer  confounds,  while  her  manner  endears ! 
When  softly  She  tells  me,  to  hope  no  relief; 
My  trembling  lips  bless  her,  in  spite  of  my  grief! 

'  By  night,  while  I  slumber  still  haunted  with  care, 
I  start  up  in  anguish,  and  sigh  for  the  Fair ! 
The  Fair  sleeps  in  peace  !     May  She  ever  do  so ; 
And  only  when  dreaming  imagine  my  woe ! ' 

*  Then,  gaze  at  a  distance ;    nor  further  aspire ! 
Nor  think  She  should  love,  whom  She  cannot  admire ! 
Hush  all  thy  complaining;    and,  dying  her  slave. 
Commend  her  to  Heaven,  thyself  to  the  gravel' 

198  


'M 


Rev.  Samtiel  JVesley. 


What  man,  in  his  wits,  had  not  rather  be  poor, 
Than  for  lucre  his  freedom  to  give ! 

Ever  busy  the  means  of  his  hfe  to  secure; 
And  so  ever  neglecting  to  live! 

Invironed  from  morning  to  night  in  a  crowd; 

Not  a  moment  unbent,  or  alone ! 
Constrained  to  be  abject,  though  never  so  proud; 

And  at  every  one's  call  but  his  own! 

Still  repining,  and  longing  for  quiet,  each  hour; 

Yet  studiously  flying  it  still ! 
With  the  means  of  enjoying  his  wish,  in  his  power; 

But  accursed  with  his  wanting  the  will ! 

For  a  year  must  be  past,  or  a  day  must  be  come, 

Before  he  has  leisure  to  rest ; 
He  must  add  to  his  store,  this,  or  that,  pretty  sum  ; 

And  then  will  have  time  to  be  blest! 


But  his  gains,  more  bewitching  the  more  they  increase, 

Only  swell  the  desire  of  his  eye ! 
Such  a  wretch,  let  mine  enemy  live,  if  he  please ! 

Let  not  even  mine  enemy  die ! 

199 


Edward  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk. 


Phillis  is  lively,  brisk,  and  gay ; 

And  loves  the  crystal  springs. 
Where  she,  with  Fountain  Nymphs  does  play; 

And  to  Diana  sings. 

She  roves  through  sweet  ambrosial  bowers, 

And  meekly  lives  at  ease. 
She  culls,  in  groves,  the  sweetest  flowers ; 

And  has  no  Swain  to  please ! 


CUPID  STRINGING  HIS  BOW 

IN  AN  IDALIAN  MEAD. 

Here,  Cupid  puffed,  and  strung  his  bow ; 
Resolved  the  Nymphs  his  power  should  know. 
Drusilla,  this  can  testify  ! 

For  as  the  Nymph  stood  peeping  by ; 
Because  she  could  not  hold,  but  smile 
To  see  the  Chit  of  Venus  toil, 
The  Boy,  forsooth,  offended  grew; 
And,  at  her  breast,  his  arrow  flew, 
As,  in  the  mead,  the  Virgin  lay, 
She  did  a  heaven  of  charms  display. 

To  view  her  wound,  bright  Venus  grieved, 
And,  in  her  pain,  the  Nymph  relieved ; 
Then  vowed,  by  Styx !   she'd  Cupid  bind, 
If  to  the  Maid  he  proved  unkind. 
200  


Edward  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk. 


THE  BEE. 

A  WANTON  Bee,  of  ancient  fame, 
From  Hybla's  mountain  singing  came ; 
And,  pleased,  he  flies  through  ev'ry  field. 
Where  daffs  and  kingcups  odours  yield  ; 
But  lighting  on  Virenia's  arm, 
When  Sleep  to  rest  her  eyes  did  charm, 
He  finer  sweets  does  gather  there  ; 
Nor  would  he  to  his  hive  repair. 

The  waking  Nymph,  surprised  to  see 
Th'  unusual  fondness  of  the  Bee, 
War  to  denounce  she  was  afraid, 
And  chose  to  form  an  ambuscade. 
To  him  a  sprig  of  thyme  did  shove, 
A  herb  that  every  Bee  does  love. 
But  he  of  this  no  notice  took ; 
At  which,  with  fear  the  Virgin  shook : 
When,  by  indulgent  Juno  sent, 
A  Fountain  Nymph  to  help  her  went. 
The  sportive  Bee  then  flew  away ; 
And  bright  Virenia  gained  the  day. 


20 1 


Lady  Grissel  Baillie. 


There  was  an  a  May,  and  she  lo'ed  na  men, 
She  bigged  her  bonny  bow'r  down  in  yon  Glen : 
But  now  she  cryes,  '  Dale  and  a  well-a-day ! 
Come  down  the  Green  gate,  and  come  here  away! 


*  When  bonny  young  Johnny  came  o'er  the  sea. 
He  said,  He  saw  nathing  so  bonny  as  me. 
He  haight  me  baith  rings  and  mony  bra  things : 
And  were  ne  my  heart  's  light,  I  wad  dye! 


'  He  had  a  wee  Titty  that  lo'ed  na  me ; 
Because  I  was  twice  as  bonny  as  She! 
She  rais'd  sick  a  pother  'twixt  him  and  his  mother, 
That  were  ne  my  heart  's  light,  I  wad  dye ! 


'The  day  it  was  set,  and  the  Bridal  to  be, 
The  Wife  took  a  dwalm,  and  lay  down  to  dye; 
She  main'd  and  She  grain'd,  out  of  dollor  and  pain. 
Till  he  vowed,  That  he  ne'er  wou'd  see  me  again ! 


'  His  kin  was  for  ane  of  a  higher  degree, 
Said,  "What  had. he  do  with  the  likes  of  me? 
Appose  I  was  bonny,  I  was  ne  for  Johnny!" 
And  were  ne  my  heart  's  light,  I  wad  dye! 


202 


Lady  Grissel  Baillie. 


'  They  said,  *'  I  had  neither  cow  nor  calf, 
Nor  drops  of  drink  runs  thro'  the  drawf, 
Nor  pickles  of  meal  runs  thro'  the  Mill  Eye." 
And  were  ne  my  heart  's  light,  I  wad  dye ! 

'The  Maiden  she  was  baith  willy  and  slye. 
She  spyed  me,  as  I  came  o'er  the  Lee ; 
And  then  she  ran  in,  and  made  sick  a  din! 
Beleive  your  ain  een,  an  ye  trow  ne  me! 


'  His  bonnet  stood  ay  fu'  round  on  his  brow, 
His  auld  ane  lookt  ay  as  well  as  his  new: 
But  now,  he  lets  't  gang  any  gate  it  will  hing ; 
And  casts  himsell  down  on  the  corn  bing. 


'  And  now,  he  gaes  drooping  about  the  dykes ; 
And  a'  he  dow  do,  is  to  hund  the  tykes. 
The  live-lang  night  he  ne'er  bows  his  eye  : 
And  were  ne  my  heart  's  light,  I  wad  dye! 


'  But  young  for  thee  as  I  ha   been, 

We  shou'd  ha'  been  galloping  down  in  yon  Green; 

And  linking  out  o'er  yon  lilly-white  Lee  : 

And  wow  gin  I  were  young  for  thee.' 


203 


Matthew  Concanen. 


THE  ADVICE. 

The  Lass  that  would  know  how  to  manage  a  man; 

Let  her  listen,  and  learn  it  from  me ! 
His  courage  to  quail,  or  his  heart  to  trepan, 

As  time  and  occasions  agree. 

The  Girl  that  has  beauty,  though  small  be  her  wit, 
May  wheedle  the  Clown,  or  the  Beau; 

The  Rake  may  repel ;   or  may  draw  in  the  Cit, 
By  the  use  of  that  pretty  word  '  No ! ' 

When  the  powdered  toupees,  in  crowds  round  her  chat. 
Each  striving  his  Passion  to  show; 

With   '  Kiss   me ! '    and  '  Love   me,  my  Dear ! '    and 
all  that; 
Let  her  answer  be  still,  'No!    No!   No!* 

When  a  dose  is  contrived  to  lay  virtue  asleep, 

A  present,  a  treat,  or  a  Ball ! 
She  still  must  refuse,  if  her  empire  she'd  keep ; 

And  '  No ! '   be  her  answer  to  all ! 

But  when  Master  Dapperwit  offers  his  hand, 

Her  partner  in  wedlock  to  go ; 
A  house,  and  a  coach,  and  a  jointure  in  land ; 

She  's  an  idiot,  if  then  she  says  '  No  ! ' 

204 


Matthew  Concanen. 


Whene'er  she  's  attacked  by  a  Youth  full  of  charms, 
Whose  courtship  proclaims  him  a  Man  ; 

When  pressed  to  his  bosom,  and  clasped  in  his  arms, 
Then,  let  her  say  *  No,'  if  she  can ! 


THE  THEFT. 

Why  are  those  charms  by  frowns  disgraced, 

Too  lovely,  and  too  coy ! 
Since  from  your  lips,  with  tim'rous  haste, 

I  snatched  transporting  joy  ? 

Too  well  I  rue  the  hapless  theft! 

Too  fatal  your  disdain ! 
I  lost— Ah  !    no !     My  life  is  left, 

I  feel  it  by  the  pain! 

Sure,  might  I  taste  another  such, 

So  warm  with  keen  desire, 
My  soul,  exulting  at  the  touch, 

Would,  through  my  lips,  expire ! 

Then,  Julia!    take  my  parting  breath 

In  such  another  kiss ! 
Glut  your  revenge!    and  let  my  death 

Atone  the  ravished  bliss! 


205 


Richard  Savage. 


VERSES 

TO   A    YOUNG    Lady. 

Polly  !   from  me,  though  now  a  love-sick  Youth, 
Nay,  though  a  Poet,  hear  the  voice  of  truth  ! 

Polly  !    you're  not  a  Beauty ;    yet  you're  pretty ! 
So  grave,  yet  gay !    so  silly,  yet  so  witty ! 
A  heart  of  softness,  yet  a  tongue  of  satire ! 
You've  cruelty ;   yet,  e'en  with  that,  good  nature  ! 
Now  you  are  free,  and  now  reserved  a  while ! 
Now  a  forced  frown  betrays  a  willing  smile ! 
Reproached  for  absence,  yet  your  sight  denied ; 
My  tongue  you  silence,  yet  my  silence  chide ! 
How  would  you  praise  me  !    should  your  Sex  defame; 
Yet,  should  they  praise,  grow  jealous  and  exclaim ! 
If  I  despair,  with  some  kind  look  you  bless j 
But  if  I  hope,  at  once  all  hope  suppress ! 
You  scorn !    yet  should  my  Passion  change,  or  fail ; 
Too  late,  you'd  whimper  out  a  softer  tale ! 
You  love !    yet  from  your  Lover's  wish  retire ; 
Doubt,  yet  discern !    deny,  and  yet  desire  ! 

Such,  Polly!  are  your  Sex!   Part  truth,  part  fiction; 
Some  thought,  much  whim,  and  all  a  contradiction! 


206 


Richard  Savage. 


THE   GENTLEMAN. 

Addressed  to  yoHN  Joliffe,  Esquire. 

A  DECENT  mien,  an  elegance  of  dress ; 
Words  which,  at  ease,  each  winning  grace  express. 
A  life  where  Love,  by  Wisdom  polished,  shines ; 
Where  Wisdom's  self  again,  by  Love,  refines. 
A  mind  where  Pity,  Mirth,  and  Friendship  reign. 
A  nature  ever  great,  and  never  vain. 
A  wit  that  no  licentious  pertness  knows  ; 
The  sense  that  unassuming  Candour  shows. 
A  love  of  Learning,  knowledge  of  mankind, 
Meekness  unservile,  and  a  taste  refined. 
Unwilling  censure  ;   yet  a  judgement  clear. 
A  smile  indulgent,  and  a  soul  sincere. 

If  these,  esteem  and  admiration  raise ; 
If  where  these  live,  they  form  a  living  praise : 
In  one  bright  view,  th'  Accomplished  Man  we  see ! 
These  virtues  all  are  thine ;   and  thou  art  He ! 


207 


Anonymous. 


Away!  Let  nought  to  Love  displeasing, 
My  WiNiFREDA !    move  your  care ! 

Let  nought  delay  the  heavenly  blessing ; 
Nor  squeamish  pride,  nor  gloomy  fear ! 

What  though  no  grants  of  royal  donors, 
With  pompous  titles  grace  our  blood : 

We'll  shine  in  more  substantial  honours ; 
And  to  be  noble,  we'll  be  good! 

Our  name,  while  Virtue  thus  we  tender. 
Will  sweetly  sound  where'er  'tis  spoke : 

And  all  the  Great  Ones,  they  shall  wonder 
How  they  respect  such  little  folk ! 

What  though  from  Fortune's  lavish  bounty, 
No  mighty  treasures  we  possess : 

We'll  find,  within  our  pittance,  plenty ; 
And  be  content,  without  excess ! 

Still  shall  each  kind  returning  season 

Sufficient  for  our  wishes  give  : 
For  we  will  live  a  life  of  reason, 

And  that  's  the  only  life  to  live ! 

Through  youth  and  age,  in  love  excelling, 
WVll  hand  in  hand  together  tread ! 

Sweet-smiling  Peace  shall  crown  our  dwelling ; 
And  babes,  sweet-smiling  babes,  our  bed ! 

208 


Anonymous. 


How  should  I  love  the  pretty  creatures, 
While  round  my  knees  they  fondly  clung! 

To  see  them  look  their  mother's  features ; 
To  hear  them  lisp  their  mother's  tongue ! 

And  when,  with  envy  Time  transported. 
Shall  think  to  rob  us  of  our  joys ; 

You'll,  in  your  Girls,  again  be  courted ; 
And  I'll  go  wooing  in  my  Boys ! 


ON  THE  SETTING  UP  OF  MR.  SAMUEL  BUTLER'S 

MONUMENT  IN   WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

While  Butler,  needy  wretch  !   was  yet  alive, 
No  gen'rous  Patron  would  a  dinner  give ! 
See  him,  when  starved  to  death  and  turned  to  dust. 
Presented  with  a  monumental  bust! 
The  Poet's  fate  is  here  in  emblem  shown : 
He  asked  for  bread,  and  he  received  a  stone ! 


EPITAPH  ON  TOM  D'URFEY. 

Here  lies  the  Lyric,  who,  with  Tale  and  Song, 
Did  life  to  threescore  years  and  ten  prolong. 
His  Tale  was  pleasant,  and  his  Song  was  sweet, 
His  heart  was  cheerful — but  his  thirst  was  great! 
Grieve,  Reader !   grieve  that  he,  too  soon  grown  old. 
His  Song  has  ended,  and  his  Tale  has  told. 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  P  209 


Dean  yonathan  Swift. 


ADVICE 
TO  THE  Grub  Street   Verse    Writers. 

Written  in  the  year  1726. 

Ye  Poets  ragged  and  forlorn, 
Down  from  your  garrets  haste ! 

Ye  Rhymers,  dead  as  soon  as  born, 
Not  yet  consigned  to  paste ! 

I  know  a  trick  to  make  you  thrive ! 

O,  'tis  a  quaint  device  ! 
Your  still-born  Poems  shall  revive. 

And  scorn  to  wrap  up  spice! 

Get  all  your  verses  printed  fair. 
Then,  let  them  well  be  dried ; 

And  CuRLL  must  have  a  special  care 
To  leave  the  margin  wide. 

Lend  these  to  paper-sparing  Pope  ! 

And,  when  he  sets  to  write, 
No  letter  with  an  envelope 

Could  give  him  more  delight! 

When  Pope  has  filled  the  margins  round ; 

Why  then,  recall  your  loan  ! 
Sell  them  to  Curll  for  Fifty  Pound  ; 

And  swear  they  are  your  own ! 
210  


Dean  yo7iathan  Swift. 


TO  MR.  POPE, 

WHILE   HE    WAS    WRITING    *  ThE  DuNCIAD.* 
Written  in  the  year  1726. 

Pope  has  the  talent  well  to  speak ; 

But  not  to  reach  the  ear. 
His  loudest  voice  is  low  and  weak  ; 

The  Dean  too  deaf  to  hear. 

A  while  they  on  each  other  look, 
Then  diff  rent  studies  choose ; 

The  Dean  sits  plodding  on  a  book, 
Pope  walks,  and  courts  the  Muse. 

Now  packs  of  letters,  though  designed 
For  those  who  more  will  need  them, 

Are  filled  with  hints,  and  interlined; 
Himself  can  hardly  read  them! 

Each  atom,  by  some  other  struck, 
All  turns  and  motions  tries  ; 

Till,  in  a  lump  together  stuck. 
Behold  a  Poem  rise ! 

Yet  to  the  Dean  his  share  allot ! 

He  claims  it  by  a  Canon, 
*  That  without  which  a  thing  is  not, 

Is  causa  sine  qua  non.' 

p  2  211 


Dean  yojiathan  Swiff. 


Thus,   Pope  !    in  vain,  you  boast  your  wit 

For  had  our  deaf  Divine 
Been  for  your  conversation  fit, 

You  had  not  writ  a  line ! 

Of  Sherlock  thus,  for  preaching  famed, 

The  Sexton  reasoned  well ; 
And  justly  half  the  merit  claimed, 

Because  he  rang  the  BelL 


MARY  THE  COOK-MAID'S  LETTER 

TO  [THE  REV.]  DOCTOR  SHERIDAN. 

Written  in  the  year  1723. 

Well  !  if  ever  I  saw  such  another  man,  since  my  mother  bound  my  head ! 
You,  a  Gentleman !   Marry,  come  up !    I  wonder,  where  you  were  bred  ? 
I  am  sure,  such  words  do  not  become  a  Man  of  your  Cloth ! 
I  would  not  give  such  language  to  a  dog !    faith  and  troth ! 
Yes !  You  called  my  Master  '  a  Knave ! '  Fie !  Mr.  Sheridan  !  'tis  a  shame 
For  a  Parson,  who  should  know  better  things,  to  come  out  with  such  a  name ! 
*  Knave '  in  your  teeth,  Mr.  Sheridan  !   'Tis  both  a  shame  and  a  sin  ; 
And  the  Dean,  my  Master,  is  an  honester  man  than  you  and  all  your  kin ! 
He  has  more  goodness  in  his  little  finger,  than  you  have  in  your  whole 

body  ! 
My  Master  is  a  parsonable  man ;    and  not  a  spindle-shanked  hoddy- 

doddy ! 
And  now  whereby  I  find  you  would  fain  make  an  excuse, 
Because  my  Master,  one  day,  in  anger,  called  you  '  Goose  ! ' 
Which,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  been  his  servant  four  years  since  October, 
And  he  never  called  me  worse  than  '  Sweet-heart ! ',   drunk  or  sober. 
212 


Dean  yonathan  Swift. 


Not  that  I  know  that  his  Reverence  was  ever  concerned,  to  my  know- 
ledge ; 

Though  you  and  your  come-rogues  keep  him  out  so  late,  in  your  wicked 
College. 

You  say,  '  You  will  eat  grass  on  his  grave  ! '     A  Christian  eat  grass  ! 

Whereby  you  now  confess  yourself  to  be  a  goose,  or  an  ass. 

But  that 's  as  much  as  to  say.  That  my  Master  should  die  before  ye  I 

Well !  Well !  That  's  as  God  pleases !  and  I  don't  believe  that  's  a  true 
story ! 

And  so  say,  I  told  you  so  !  and  you  may  go  tell  my  Master !  What  care  I ! 

And  I  don't  care  who  knows  it !    'Tis  all  one  to  Mary  ! 

Everybody  knows  that  I  love  to  tell  truth,  and  shame  the  Devil ! 

I  am  but  a  poor  servant ;  but  I  think  Gentlefolks  should  be  civil ! 


Besides,  you  found  fault  with  our  vittels,  one  day  that  you  were  here ; 
I  remember  it  was  upon  a  Tuesday,  of  all  days  in  the  year  ! 

And  Saunders,  the  Man,  says,  You  are  always  jesting  and  mocking. 

'  Mary,'  said  he,  one  day,  as  1  was  mending  my  Master's  stocking, 
'  My  Master  is  so  fond  of  that  Minister,  that  keeps  the  School ! 
I  thought  my  Master  was  a  wise  man  ;  but  that  man  makes  him  a  fool ! ' 

'Saunders,'  says  I,  '  I  would  rather  than  a  quart  of  ale, 
He  would  come  into  our  kitchen  ;    and  I  would  pin  a  dish-clout  to  his 
tail ! ' 


And  now,  I  must  go,  and  get  Saunders  to  direct  this  letter  ! 
For  I  write  but  a  sad  scrawl !  but  my  sister  Marget,  she  writes  better. 
Well !  but  I  must  run,  and  make  the  bed,  before  my  Master  comes  from 

Prayers. 
And  see  now,  it  strikes  ten  !   and  I  hear  him  coming  upstairs. 

Whereof  I  could  say  more  to  your  Verses,  if  I  could  write  written  hand  : 

And  so  I  remain,  in  a  civil  way,  Your  servant  to  command, 

Mary. 


213 


IVilliani  Soniervile. 


A    SONG  FOR    THE  LUTE. 

Gently,  my  Lute !   move  ev'ry  string ! 

Soft  as  my  sighs,  reveal  my  pain ! 
While  I,  in  plaintive  Numbers  sing 

Of  slighted  vows,  and  cold  disdain. 

In  vain,  her  Airs  !    in  vain,  her  art ! 

In  vain,  she  frowns  when  I  appear! 
Thy  notes  shall  melt  her  frozen  heart! 

She  cannot  hate,  if  She  can  hear! 

And  see.  She  smiles !    Through  all  the  groves 

Triumphant  Id  Peans  sound ! 
Clap  all  your  wings,  ye  little  Loves ! 

Ye  sportive  Graces,  dance  around ! 

Ye  list'ning  oaks,  bend  to  my  Song! 

Not  Orpheus  played  a  nobler  Lay! 
Ye  savages,  about  me  throng! 

Ye  rocks,  and  harder  hearts,  obey ! 

She  comes  !    She  comes  !    relentinof  Fair ! 

To  fill  with  joy  my  longing  arms. 
What  faithful  Lover  can  despair, 

Who  thus  with  Verse  and  Music  charms! 


214 


William  Somervile. 


\ 


k 


A  HUNTING  SONG. 

Behold,  my  friend !    the  rosy-fingered  Morn, 
With  bhishes  on  her  face, 

Peeps  o'er  yon  azure  hill ! 
Rich  gems,  the  trees  enchase! 
Pearls  from  each  bush  distil ! 
Arise  !    Arise  !    and  hail  the  light  new-born ! 


Hark!    Hark!    The  merry  horn  calls,  'Come  away!' 
Quit,  quit  thy  downy  bed ! 

Break  from  Amynta's  arms  ! 
O,  let  it  ne'er  be  said 

That  all,  that  all  her  charms 
(Though  she  's  as  Venus  fair!)  can  tempt  thy  stay! 


Perplex  thy  soul  no  more  with  cares  below ! 
For  what  will  pelf  avail  ? 

Thy  courser  paws  the  ground, 
Each  beagle  cocks  his  tail. 

They  spend  their  months  around ; 
While  health  and  pleasure  smile  on  every  brow ! 

215 


IVilliam  Somervile. 


Try,  Huntsmen !  all  the  brakes  !  spread  all  the  plain 
Now,  now,  she  's  gone  away ! 

Strip  !    Strip  !    with  speed  pursue  ! 
The  jocund  God  of  Day, 

Who  fain  our  sport  would  view, 
See !    See !   he  flogs  his  fiery  steeds  in  vain ! 


Pour  down,  like  a  flood  from  the  hills,  brave  Boys 
On  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

The  merry  beagles  fly  ! 
Dull  Sorrow  lags  behind  ! 
Ye  shrill  echoes,  reply ! 
Catch  each  flying  sound  ;    and  double  our  joys ! 


Ye  rocks,  woods,  and  caves,  our  music  repeat ! 
The  bright  Spheres  thus  above, 

A  gay  refulgent  Train, 
Harmoniously  move. 
O'er  yon  celestial  plain. 
Like  us,  whirl  along  in  concert  so  sweet ! 


Now  Puss  threads  the  brakes,  and  heavily  flies 
At  the  head  of  the  pack 

Old  Fidler  bears  the  bell ! 
Every  foil  he  hunts  back, 
And  aloud  rings  her  knell ; 
Till  forced  into  view,  she  pants,  and  she  dies ! 
216 


Williain  Somervile. 


In  Life's  dull  round,  thus  we  toil  and  we  sweat! 
Diseases,  Grief,  and  Pain, 

An  implacable  crew, 
While  we  double  in  vain, 
Unrelenting  pursue; 
Till,  quite  hunted  down,  we  yield  with  regret. 


This  moment  is  ours!    Come,  live  while  ye  may! 
f^  What  's  decreed  by  dark  Fate 

Is  not  in  our  own  power  ! 
Since  To-morrow  's  too  late, 
Take  the  present  kind  hour  I 
With  Wine  cheer  the  night ;  as  Sports  bless  the  day 


217 


Edward  Roome. 


SONGS  FROM  *  THE  JOVIAL  CREW; 

1731. 

She  was  not  coy ! 
She  would  laugh  and  toy; 
Yet  preserved  her  virgin  fame ! 
She  was  her  father's  only  joy; 
And  every  Shepherd's  flame. 
Though  many  strove, 
Yet  none  could  move, 
Till  Strephon,  young  and  gay. 
Inspired  her  soul  with  virtuous  love ; 
And  stole  her  heart  away! 


Though  women,  'tis  true,  are  but  tender ; 

Yet  Nature  does  strength  supply ! 
Their  will  is  too  strong  to  surrender! 

They're  obstinate  still,  till  they  die ! 
In  vain,  you  attack  them  with  reason ; 

Your  sorrows  you  only  prolong ! 
Disputing  is  always  High  Treason ; 

No  woman  was  e'er  in  the  wrong ! 
Your  only  relief  is  to  bear  I 

And  when  you  appear  content. 
Perhaps,  in  compassion,  the  Fair 

May  persuade  herself  into  consent! 
218  


I 


Edward  Roome. 


The  mind  of  a  woman  can  never  be  known ! 

You  never  can  guess  it  aright ! 
I'll  tell  you  the  reason ! — She  knows  not  her  own ; 
It  changes  so  often  ere  night! 
'Twould  puzzle  Apollo, 
Her  whimseys  to  follow; 
His  oracle  would  be  a  jest! 
She'll  frown,  when  she  's  kind; 
Then,  quickly  you'll  find 
She'll  change  with  the  wind; 
And  often  abuses 
The  man  that  she  chooses; 
And  what  she  refuses, 
Likes  best! 


There  was  an  old  fellow  at  Waltham  Cross, 
Who  merrily  sung,  when  he  lived  by  the  loss! 
He  cheered  up  his  heart,  when  his  goods  went  to  rack, 
With  a  '  Hem !   Boys  !  Hem ! '  and  a  cup  of  old  Sack. 


219 


Edward  Roome. 


At  night,  by  moonlight,  on  the  plain, 

With  rapture  have  I  seen, 
Attended  by  her  harmless  Train, 

The  little  Fairy  Queen, 
Her  midnight  Revels  sweetly  keep! 
While  mortals  are  involved  in  sleep. 

They  tripped  it  o'er  the  Green ! 

And  where  they  danced  their  cheerful  Round, 

The  morning  would  disclose ! 
For  where  their  nimble  feet  do  bound, 

Each  flower  unbidden  grows ! 
The  daisy,  fair  as  Maids  in  May, 
The  cowslip,  in  his  gold  array. 

And  blushing  violet,  'rose ! 


'  Did  our  sighing  Lovers  know 
What  a  pain  we  undergo  ; 
Sweeter  would  their  wooing  prove  ! 
Shorter  were  the  way  to  Love  ! 
Unkind  commands,  when  they  obey, 
We  suffer  more,  much  more,  than  they 
And  to  rebel,  were  kinder  still ; 
Than  to  obey  (against  our  will) ! ' 


220 


Mary  Barber. 


STELLA  AND  FLA  VIA. 

Stella  and  Flavia,  ev'ry  hour, 
Unnumbered  hearts  surprise. 

In  Stella's  soul  lies  all  her  power; 
And  Flavia's,  in  her  eyes. 


More  boundless  Flavia's  conquests  are ; 

And  Stella's  more  confined. 
All  can  discern  a  face  that  's  fair ; 

But  few,  a  lovely  mind. 


Stella,  like  Britain's  Monarch,  reigns 

O'er  cultivated  lands : 
Like  Eastern  tyrants,  Flavia  deigns 

To  rule  o'er  barren  sands. 


Then  boast,  fair  Flavia  !  boast  your  face 

Your  beauty's  only  store. 
Your  charms  will  ev'ry  day  decrease! 

Each  day  gives  Stella  more! 


221 


Anonymotts. 


THE   COBBLER'S  END. 

A  Cobbler  there  was,  and  he  lived  in  a  stall  ; 
Which  served  him  for  Parlour,  for  Kitchen,  and  Hall. 
No  coin  in  his  pocket,  nor  care  in  his  pate; 
No  ambition  had  he,  nor  duns  at  his  gate. 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

Contented  he  worked,  and  he  thought  himself  happy, 
If,  at  night,  he  could  purchase  a  jug  of  brown  Nappy. 
He'd   laugh    then,    and   whistle,   and   sing   too    most 

sweet. 
Saying,  'Just  to  a  hair,  I've  made  both  ends  meet!' 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

But  Love,  the  disturber  of  high  and  of  low, 
That  shoots  at  the  Peasant  as  well  as  the  Beau, 
He  shot  the  poor  Cobbler  quite  through  the  heart! 
I  wish  he  had  hit  some  more  ignoble  part ! 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

It  was  from  a  cellar  this  archer  did  play, 
Where  a  buxom  young  damsel  continually  lay. 
Her  eyes  shone  so  bright,  when  she  rose  every  day, 
That  she  shot  the  poor  Cobbler,  quite  over  the  way. 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

222 


Anonymous. 


He  sang  her  Love  Songs,  as  he  sat  at  his  work ; 
But  she  was  as  hard  as  a  Jew,  or  a  Turk. 
Whenever  he  spake,  she  would  flounce  and  would  fleer; 
Which  put  the  poor  Cobbler  quite  into  despair. 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

He  took  up  his  awl  that  he  had  in  the  world ; 
And  to  make  away  with  himself  was  resolved! 
He  pierced  through  his  body,  instead  of  the  sole. 
So  the  Cobbler  he  died  ;    and  the  bell  it  did  toll. 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 

And  now,  in  good  will,  I  advise  as  a  friend, 
All  Cobblers  take  warning  by  this  Cobbler's  end\ 
Keep  your  hearts  out  of  love !  for  we  find,  by  what 's 

past, 
That  love  brings  us  awl  to  an  end  at  the  last. 
Derry  down,  down,  down,  derry  down. 


THE  LONDON  LASS. 

What  though  I  am  a  London  Dame, 

And  lofty  looks  I  bear  a; 
I  carry,  sure,  as  good  a  name 

As  those  who  russet  wear  a ! 
What  though  my  clothes  are  rich  brocade ; 

My  skin  it  is  more  white  a 
Than  any  of  the  Country  Maids, 

That  in  the  field  delight  a! 

223 


Anonymous. 


What  though  I  to  Assemblies  go, 

And  at  the  Opera  shine  a ; 
It  is  a  thing  all  Girls  must  do, 

That  will  be  Ladies  fine  a ! 
And  while  I   hear  Faustina  sing 

Before  the  King  and  Queen  a; 
My  eyes,  they  are  upon  the  wing, 

To  see  if  I  am  seen  a! 


My  Pekoe  and  Imperial  Tea 

Are  brought  me  in  the  Morn  a ; 
At  Noon,  Champagne  and  rich  Tokay, 

My  tables  do  adorn  a ; 
The  Evening  then  does  me  invite 

To  play  at  dear  Quadrille  a : 
And,  sure,  in  this,  there  's  more  delight 

Than  in  a  purling  rill  a! 


Then,  since  my  fortune  does  allow 

Me  to  live  as  I  please  a ; 
I'll  never  milk  my  father's  cow. 

Nor  press  his  coming  cheese  a! 
But  take  my  swing,  both  night  and  day; 

I'm  sure  it  is  no  sin  a ! 
And  as  for  what  the  grave  ones  say, 

I  value  not  a  pin  a! 


224 


Charles  M or  daunt,  Earl  of  Peterborough. 

I  SAID  to  my  heart,  between  sleeping  and  waking, 
'  Thou  wild  thing  !  that  always  art  leaping,  or  aching  ! 
What  Black,  Brown,  or  Fair,  in  what  clime,  in  what 

nation, 
By  turns  has  not  taught  thee  a  pit-a-pat-ation  ? ' 

Thus  accused ;  the  wild  thing  gave  this  sober  reply : 
'See  the  heart  without  motion,  though  Ccelia  pass  by! 
Not  the  beauty  she  has,  nor  the  wit  that  she  borrows, 
Gives  the  eye  any  joys,  or  the  heart  any  sorrows ! 

'  When  our  Sappho  appears,  she  whose  wit  so  refined 
I  am  forced  to  applaud  with  the  rest  of  mankind, 
Whatever  she  says  is  with  spirit  and  fire! 
Ev'ry  word  I  attend.;    but  I  only  admire! 

'  Prudentia  as  vainly  would  put  in  her  claim ; 
Ever  gazing  on  heaven,  though  Man  is  her  aim. 
'Tis  Love,  not  Devotion,  that  turns  up  her  eyes ! 
Those  stars  of  this  world  are  too  good  for  the  skies! 

'  But  Cloe  so  lively,  so  easy,  so  fair ! 
Her  wit  so  genteel,  without  art,  without  care ! 
When  she  comes  in  my  way,  the  motion,  the  pain, 
The  leapings,  the  achings,  return  all  again  !' 

O,  wonderful  creature !    a  woman  of  reason  I 
Never  grave  out  of  pride  ;  never  gay  out  of  season! 
When  so  easy  to  guess,  who  this  angel  should  be, 
Would  one  think  Mrs.  Howard  ne'er  dreamt  it  was  she? 


BRIT.  ANTH,   VIII.  Q  22^ 


yoseph   Thurston. 


CONSTANCY. 

How  firmly  fixed,  I  thought  my  heart, 
When  Phyllis  first  I  knew ; 

So  deep  the  wound,  so  sharp  the  dart, 
I  must  be  ever  true ! 

Such  dazzling  charms  her  glances  shot! 

Her  eyes,  such  pointed  rays! 
I  sighed ;   and  wished  it  were  my  lot 

Eternally  to  gaze! 

Long  did  I  serve  the  gentle  Dame, 

Pine,  languish,  and  adore ! 
Till,  on  a  time,  Pastora  came; 

And  Phyllis  was  no  more ! 

Pastora  seized  my  heart  with  joy ; 

Small  cause  had  she  to  boast! 
For,  soon,  the  restless  wand'ring  toy 

Was  to  Belinda  lost ! 

I  thought  Bei-inda  was  divine, 

So  fair,  so  gay,  so  young ! 
Belinda  !    I  had  still  been  thine ; 
If  Chloe  had  not  sung  ! 
226 


yoseph   Thurston. 


For  Belvidera,  next,  I  bled; 

And  wooed  her  with  my  tears ! 
Till  Delia  took  me,  in  her  stead; 

And  Amoret,  in  hers ! 

Like  me,  ye  Swains !   your  time  improve ; 

And  Woman's  pride  will  fall ! 
Be  never  true  to  One  in  love ; 

But  constant  to  them  All! 


ON  A  LADY'S  FAN. 

I  SLYLY  stole  this  secret  Charm, 
In  hopes  my  Chloe  to  disarm. 
The  artifice  was  mean  and  poor; 
And  she  as  potent  as  before! 

Let  Jove,  his  thunder  lay  aside; 
His  Godhead  soon  will  be  defied ! 
If  Venus  but  her  Zone  remove ; 
You  would  not  know  the  Oueen  of  Love! 
And  Cupid,  maugre  all  his  skill. 
Without  his  bow,  could  never  kill ! 

Fair  Nymph  !   thy  boundless  power  I  own 
Dependent  on  thyself  alone ! 
Superior  thou,  in  every  part, 
Alike  to  Nature,  as  to  Art ! 

Q  2  227 


A7tonyinotis. 


A   HEALTH   TO  ALL   HONEST  MEN! 

Every  man  take  his  Glass  in  his  hand ; 

And  drink  a  Good  Heakh  to  our  King! 
Many  years  may  he  rule  o'er  this  land ! 
May  his  laurels  for  ever  fresh  spring! 
Let  wrangling  and  jangling  straightway  cease ! 
Let  every  man  strive  for  his  country's  peace ! 
Neither  Tory,  nor  Whig, 
With  their  Parties,  look  big! 
Here  's  a  Health  to  all  honest  men! 

'Tis  not  owning  a  whimsical  name 

That  proves  a  man  loyal  and  just ! 
Let  him  fight  for  his  country's  fame  ! 

Be  impartial  at  home,  if  in  trust! 
'Tis  this,  that  proves  him  an  honest  soul ! 
His  Health  we'll  drink  in  a  brimful  bowl ! 
Then  let  's  leave  off  debate ! 
No  confusion  create  ! 
Here  's  a  Health  to  all  honest  men! 

When  a  company  's  honestly  met, 
With  intent  to  be  merry  and  gay, 

Their  drooping  spirits  to  whet, 

And  drown  the  fatigues  of  the  day; 

What  madness  is  it,  thus  to  dispute. 

When  neither  Side  can  his  man  confute! 
228 


Anonymous. 


When  you've  said  what  you  dare, 

You're  but  just  where  you  were  ! 

Here  's  a  Health  to  all  honest  men! 

Then  agree,  ye  true  Britons !    agree ! 

And  ne'er  quarrel  about  a  nickname! 
Let  your  enemies  trembling  see 

That  an  Englishman  's  always  the  same ! 
For  our  King,  our  Church,  our  laws,  and  right ; 
Let  's  lay  by  all  feuds,  and  straight  unite ! 
Then  who  need  care  a  fig 
Who  's  a  Tory,  or  Whig! 
Here  's  a  Health  to  all  honest  men! 


VERSES 

written  on  one  of  the   windows  of  doctor 
Delany's  house  at  Delville. 

A  Bard,  grown  desirous  of  saving  his  pelf. 
Built  a  house  he  was  sure  would  hold  none  but  himself 
This  enraged  God  Apollo,  who  Mercury  sent, 
And  bid  him  go  ask,  What  his  Votary  meant  ? 

'  Some  foe  to  my  empire  has  been  his  adviser ; 
'Tis  of  dreadful  portent  when  a  Poet  turns  miser ! 
Tell  him,  Hermes,  from  me  !  tell  that  subject  of  mine ! 
I   have  sworn,  by  the  Styx !    to  defeat  his  design ! 
For,  wherever  he  lives,  the  Muses  shall  reio-n  : 
And  the  Muses,  he  know^s,  have  a  numerous  Train.' 

—  229 


Henry  Baker,  F,R,S. 


THE  DECLAIMER. 

*  Woman  !    thoughtless,  giddy  creature ! 

Laughing,  idle,  flutt'ring  thing! 
Most  fantastic  work  of  Nature ! 

Still,  like  Fancy,  on  the  wing! 


'  Slave  to  ev'ry  changing  Passion ; 

Loving,  hating,  in  extreme ! 
Fond  of  ev'ry  foolish  fashion ; 

And,  at  best,  a  pleasing  dream ! 


'  Lovely  trifle  I    dear  illusion ! 

Conqu'ring  weakness!   wished-for  pain! 
Man's  chief  glory,  and  confusion! 

Of  all  vanity  most  vain ! ' 


Thus  deriding  Beauty's  power, 

Bevil  called  it  all  a  cheat! 
But,  in  less  than  half  an  hour, 

Kneeled,  and  whined,  at  Celia's  feet! 


230 


Henry  Baker,  F.R.S. 


THE  MODISH  LOVER. 

With  downcast  eyes  and  folded  arms, 

Young  Myrtle  sauntered  out  one  day, 
Reflecting  on  Florinda's  charms, 

The  fair,  the  blooming,  and  the  gay. 
Deeply  he  sighed,  his  bosom  all  aflame ; 
And  on  the  dust,  he  flourished  out  her  name. 

Next  morn,  abroad  he  walked  again ; 
Much  altered  since  the  day  before. 
A  good  night's  rest  had  cured  his  pain ; 
Nor  was  Florinda  thought  of  more. 
But  giddy  Chance,  the  fickle  Youth  had  brought 
Close  by  that  spot,  where  he  her  name  had  wrote. 

The  place  recalls  to  mind  his  flame ; 

When,  all  in  love,  he  wandered  there. 
'  'Twas  here,'  he  cries,  '  I  left  the  name 
Of  yesterday's  commanding  Fair  ! ' 
Pensive  a  while  he  stood ;    then  looked  to  find 
What  beauteous  image  had  possessed  his  mind. 

But  vain,  alas,  his  searches  prove. 

The  rain  had  fallen,  the  wind  had  blown ; 
And,  sympathizing  with  his  love, 
Away  was  ev'ry  letter  flown  ! 
Nor  could  his  faithless  memory  declare 
Whose  name  he,  yesterday,  had  flourished  there! 

231 


Henry  Baker,  F.R.S. 


DAMON  AND   CHLOE. 

Damon.    Love  's  an  idle  childish  Passion, 

Only  fit  for  girls  and  boys ! 
Marriage  is  a  cursed  fashion ! 

Women  are  but  foolish  toys! 
Spite  of  all  the  tempting  evils, 

Still  thy  liberty  maintain! 
Tell  them,  tell  the  pretty  Devils ! 

'  Man  alone  was  made  to  reign ! ' 


Chloe.      Empty  boaster  /   know  thy  duty  ! 

Thou  who  darst  my  power  defy, 
Feel  the  force  of  Love  and  Beauty  I 

Tremble  at  m,y  feet,  and  die  ! 
Wherefore  does  thy  colour  leave  thee? 

Why  these  cares  iLpon  thy  brow  ? 
Did  the  rebel.  Pride,  deceive  thee? 

Ask  him,  *  Who  's  the  Monarch  noio?' 


232 


Anonymous. 


ON   THE   CHOICE   OF  A    WIFE. 

SILVIO   AND    STREPHON. 

*  If  thou  hadst  liberty  to  choose 
For  Hfe,  dear  StripHng !    let  thy  Muse,' 
Thus  Silvio,  to  his  Strephon  said, 
*  Give  me  a  picture  of  the  Maid, 
With  whom  you'd  live  !   for  whom  could  die  ! ' 
Thus  gentle  Strephon  made  reply. 

'Were  I,  my  friend!  to  choose  a  Wife, 
A  dear  companion  for  my  life ; 
A  Nymph,  my  happiest  choice  should  be, 
From  artifice  and  falsehood  free. 
Her  education,  birth,  estate. 
Neither  too  humble,  nor  too  great. 

'Wealth  should  not  my  affections  move. 
The  treasure  I  require  is  Love ! 
For,  surely,  riches  in  excess 
Are  not  the  means  to  happiness! 
Yet  may  kind  Heaven  sufficient  give, 
With  comfort  and  with  ease  to  live  ! 

'  Beauty  alone,   I  would  despise ; 
Vermilion  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes. 
A  set  of  features  will  decay, 
And  moulder  to  their  parent-clay : 

233 


Anonymous. 


Yet  may  the  Graces  charms  impart, 
To  soothe  my  eye,  and  warm  my  heart! 
Charms  that  may  my  affections  tie. 
Till  Time  himself  grow  old,  and  die ! 

*  She  should,  devout  in  constant  prayer, 
Religion  make  her  chiefest  care ! 
And,  next  to  Heaven,  me  learn  to  please, 
Crowning  my  happy  days  with  ease  1 
Still  kind,  and  kind  to  me  alone ! 
Her  years  proportioned  to  my  own. 
Her  humour  of  a  piece  with  mine. 
Her  dress  genteelly  neat,  not  fine. 
Her  temper  amiably  mild ; 
With  constancy  and  sweetness  filled. 

'  She  should  not  want  the  foreign  aid 
Of  silk,  embroid'ry,  or  brocade ; 
In  native  innocence  arrayed. 
Should  be  with  wit  and  sense  endowed, 
Yet  not  of  those  endowments  proud ; 
Nor  stiffly  dumb,  nor  pertly  loud. 
To  decent  cheerfulness  inclined ; 
And  of  the  softest  mould  her  mind. 
With  such  a  Nymph  contented  I 
Could  live !    for  such  a  Nymph  could  die 

'  Whate'er  we  meet  with  in  Romances, 
Or  dreaming  Lovers'  airy  fancies ; 
234 


Aiwnymous. 


Surely,  such  Nymph  on  British  ground,' 
Quoth  Silvio  smiHng,  '  ne'er  was  found ! ' 


'  O,  Silvio  ! '   Strephon  sighing  said, 
*  O,  did  you  know  the  charming  Maid ! 
Had  you  the  fair  Eliza  viewed, 
So  chaste,  so  amiably  good. 
She 's  more  (with  wonder  you'd  confess !) 
Than  you  can  think  ;    or  I  express ! 

'  Prudence  does  o'er  her  wit  preside ; 
And  Reason,  all  her  Passions  guide. 
Modesty  dwells  upon  her  cheek. 
The  Graces,  in  her  language  speak. 
Beauty  sits  on  her  face  confest. 
Virtue,  with  no  ill  thoughts  opprest. 
Serenes  her  brow,  and  calms  her  breast. 

'  How  shall  my  feeble  pencil  paint 
Her  charms,  where  all  description  's  faint! 
O,  she  has  charms  enough  to  move 
A  hermit's  frozen  heart  to  love! 
She  is  adorned  with  sweetness,  ease, 
Good  nature,  every  art  to  please! 
From  prud'ry,  or  coquetry,  free ; 
All  Man  could  wish,  or  Woman  be ! 

'If  I'm  indulged  to  choose  a  Wife, 
A  dear  companion  for  my  life ; 
Bless  me,  kind  Heaven!    with  such  a  Dame! 
And  yet  not  such — but  O,  the  sameV 

235 


Rt.  Hon.  Sir  PVilliain   Yonge,  Bart. 


THE    WHEEDLER. 

In  vain,  dear  Cloe!    you  suggest, 
That  I,  inconstant,  have  possest 

Or  loved  a  fairer  She  1 
Would  you,  with  ease,  at  once  be  cured 
Of  all  the  ills  you've  long  endured ; 

Consult  your  Glass  and  me! 


If  then,  you  think  that  I  can  find 

A   Nymph  more  fair,  or  one  more  kind; 

You've  reason  for  your  fears ! 
But  if  impartial  you  will  prove 
To  your  own  beauty  and  my  love ; 

How  needless  are  your  tears ! 


If,  in  my  way,  I  should,  by  chance, 
Receive,  or  give,  a  wanton  glance  ; 

I  like  but  while  I  view ! 
How  slight  the  glance,  how  faint  the  kiss, 
Compared  to  that  substantial  bliss 

Which   I   receive  from  you ! 
236 


Rt.  Hon.  Sir  IVilliani   Yongc,  Bart. 


With  wanton  flight,  the  curious  bee 
From  flower  to  flower  still  wanders  free ; 

And,  where  each  blossom  blows, 
Extracts  the  juice  of  all  he  meets  : 
But  for  his  quintessence  of  sweets, 

He  ravishes  the  rose ! 


So,  my  fond  fancy  to  employ 
On  each  variety  of  joy, 

From  Nymph  to  Nymph  I  roam  ; 
Perhaps,   see  fifty  in  a  day! 
Those  are  but  visits  which  I  pay; 

For  Cloe  is  my  home ! 


231 


George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne. 


LOVING  AT  FIRST  SIGHT. 

No  warning  of  th'  approaching  flame! 
Swiftly,  like  sudden  death,  it  came ! 
Like  travellers  by  lightning  killed, 
I  burnt,  the  moment  I  beheld! 

In  whom  so  many  charms  are  placed, 
Is  with  a  mind  as  nobly  graced ! 
The  Case,  so  shining  to  behold. 
Is  filled  with  richest  gems  and  gold. 

To  what  my  eyes  admired  before, 

I  add  a  thousand  graces  more ! 

And  Fancy  blows  into  a  flame 

The  spark  that  from  her  Beauty  came ! 

The  object  thus  improved  by  thought; 
By  my  own  image  I  am  caught! 
Pygmalion  so,  with  fatal  art, 
Polished  the  Form  that  stung  his  heart! 


Warned,  and  made  wise  by  others*  flame; 
I  fled  from  whence  such  mischiefs  came. 
Shunning  the  Sex,  that  kills  at  sight; 
I  sought  my  safety  in  my  flight. 
238 


George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowite. 

But,  ah  !   in  vain,  from  Fate  we  fly ! 
For,  first  or  last,  as  all  must  die ; 
So  'tis  as  much  decreed  above, 
That,  first  or  last,  we  all  must  love ! 

My  heart,  which  stood  so  long  the  shock 
Of  winds  and  waves,  like  some  firm  rock, 
By  one  bright  spark  from  Myra  thrown, 
Is  into  flames,  like  powder,  blown! 


'  Foolish  Love  !   be  gone ! '  said  I, 
'  Vain  are  thy  attempts  on  me ! 

Thy  soft  allurements  I  defy! 

Women,  those  fair  dissemblers,  fly! 
My  heart  was  never  made  for  thee ! ' 

Love  heard;   and  straight  prepared  a  dart. 

*  Myra  !  revenge  my  cause  ! '  said  he. 
Too  sure  'twas  shot !  I  feel  the  smart ! 
It  rends  my  brain,  and  tears  my  heart! 

'  O,  Love  !    my  conqu'ror  !   pity  me ! ' 


'I'll  tell  her,  the  next  time!'  said  I, 
In  vain  !    in  vain !  for  when  I  try, 

Upon  my  tim'rous  tongue  the  trembling  accents  die ! 
Alas !   a  thousand  thousand  fears 
Still  overawe,  when  she  appears !      [in  tears ! 

My  breath  is  spent  in   sighs ;    my  eyes  are  drowned 

239 


George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne. 


THYRSI S  AND  DELIA. 

Thyrsis.  Delta  !  how  long  must  I  despair, 
And  tax  you  with  disdain  ? 
Still  to  my  tender  love  severe ; 
Untouched,  when  I  complain  ! 


Delia.      When  men  of  equal  merit  love  us. 
And  do  with  equal  ardour  sue ; 
Thyrsis  /  you  know  but  one  must  move  us  ! 
Can  I  be  yours,  and  Strephons,  too 


''> 


My  eyes  view  both  with  mighty  pleasure, 
Impartial  to  your  high  desert. 

To  both  alike,  esteem  I  measure! 
To  one  alone,  can  give  my  heart! 


Thyrsis.   Mysterious  Guide  of   Inclination ! 
Tell  me,  Tyrant !    why  am  I, 
With  equal  merit,  equal  Passion, 
Thus  the  victim  chosen  to  die  ? 

Why  am  I 
The  victim  chosen  to  die  ? 
240 


George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne. 

Delia.  On  Fate  alone  depends  success; 

And  Fancy,  Reason  overrides ! 
Or  why  shoidd  Virtue  ever  miss 
Reward,  so  often  given  to  fools  ? 

'  Tis  not  the  valiant,  nor  the  ivitty  ; 

But  who  alone  is  born  to  please  ! 
Love  does  predestinate  our  pity  ! 

We  choose  but  whom  he  first  decrees  ! 


Why  should  a  heart  so  tender  break  ? 

O,  Myra  !    give  its  anguish  ease  ! 
The  use  of  Beauty  you  mistake! 

Not  meant  to  vex ;    but  please ! 

Those  lips,  for  smiling  were  designed  I 

That  bosom,  to  be  prest ! 
Your  eyes,  to  languish,  and  look  kind ! 

For  amorous  arms,  your  waist! 

Each  thing  has  its  appointed  right. 
Established  by  the  Powers  above ; 

The  sun,  to  give  us  warmth  and  light! 
Myra,  to  kindle  love ! 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIIL  R  24I 


Charles  Hamilton,  Loi^d  Binning. 


A  PASTORAL  BALLAD. 

Did  ever  Swain,  a  Nymph  adore, 

As  I  ungrateful  Nanny  do ! 
Was  ever  Shepherd's  heart  so  sore ! 
Was  ever  broken  heart  so  true ! 

My  eyes  are  swelled  with  tears  ;  but  she 
Has  never  shed  a  tear  for  me! 

If  Nanny  called,  did  Robin  stay ! 

Or  linger,  when  she  bid  me  run ! 
She  only  had  the  word  to  say  ; 

And  all  she  asked  was  quickly  done! 
I  always  thought  on  her ;    but  she 
Would  ne'er  bestow  a  thought  on  me ! 

To  let  her  cows  my  clover  taste, 

Have  I  not  rose  by  break  of  day! 
When  did  her  heifers  ever  fast, 
If  Robin  in  his  yard  had  hay! 

Though  to  my  fields  they  welcome  were ; 
I  never  welcome  was  to  her! 

If  Nanny  ever  lost  a  sheep, 

I  cheerfully  did  give  her  two  I 
Did  not  her  lambs  in  safety  sleep 
Within  my  folds,  in  frost  and  snow ! 

Have  they  not  there  from  cold  been  free ; 
But  Nanny  still  is  cold  to  me ! 
242 


Charles  Hamilton,  Lord  Binning, 

Whene'er  I  climbed  our  orchard  trees, 
The  ripest  fruit  was  kept  for  Nan  ! 
O,  how  those  hands  that  drowned  her  bees 
Were  stung!    I'll  ne'er  forget  the  pain! 
Sweet  were  the  combs,  as  sweet  could  be  ; 
But  Nanny  ne'er  looked  sweet  on  me ! 

If  Nanny  to  the  well  did  come, 

'Twas  I  that  did  her  pitchers  fill ! 
Full  as  they  were,  I  brought  them  home! 
Her  corn  I  carried  to  the  Mill ! 

My  back  did  bear  her  sacks ;    but  she 
Would  never  bear  the  sight  of  me ! 

To  Nanny's  poultry,  oats  I  gave  ; 

I'm  sure,  they  always  had  the  best ! 
Within  this  week,  her  pigeons  have 
Eat  up  a  peck  of  peas  at  least! 
Her  little  pigeons  kiss  ;    but  she 
Would  never  take  a  kiss  from  me! 

Must  Robin  always  Nanny  woo  ; 

And  Nanny  still  on  Robin  frown  ? 
Alas,  poor  wretch  !     What  shall  I  do  ? 
If  Nanny  does  not  love  me  soon, 
If  no  relief  to  me  she'll  brino-  • 
I'll  hang  me  in  her  apron-string ! 


R  2 


243 


George  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 


Written  in  the  year  1732. 

When  Delia  on  the  plain  appears, 
Awed  by  a  thousand  tender  fears, 
I  would  approach  ;   but  dare  not  move ! 
Tell  me,  my  heart !    if  this  be  Love  ? 

Whene'er  she  speaks,  my  ravished  ear 
No  other  voice  but  hers  can  hear! 
No  other  wit  but  hers  approve ! 
Tell  me,  my  heart !    if  this  be  Love  ? 

If  she,  some  other  Youth  commend. 
Though  I  was  once  his  fondest  friend. 
His  instant  enemy  I  prove ! 
Tell  me,  my  heart !    if  this  be  Love  ? 

When  she  is  absent,   I  no  more 
Delight  in  all  that  pleased  before, 
The  clearest  spring,  or  shadiest  grove ! 
Tell  me,  my  heart !   if  this  be  Love  ? 

When  fond  of  power,  of  beauty  vain, 
Her  nets  she  spread  for  ev'ry  Swain ; 
I  strove  to  hate,  but  vainly  strove ! 
Tell  me,  my  heart !    if  this  be  Love  ? 


244 


George  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 


Written  in  the  year  1733. 

'  The  heavy  hours  are  almost  past 
That  part  my  Love  and  me ; 

My  longing  eyes  may  hope,  at  last, 
Their  only  wish  to  see ! 


*  But  how,  my  Delia  !   will  you  meet 
The  man  you've  lost  so  long  ? 

Will  love  in  all  your  pulses  beat. 
And  tremble  on  your  tongue  ? 

'Will  you,  in  ev'ry  look,  declare 

Your  heart  is  still  the  same  ; 
And  heal  each  idly-anxious  care 

Our  fears,  in  absence  frame  ? 

'  Thus,  Delia  !    thus,  I  paint  the  scene, 

When  shortly  we  shall  meet ; 
And  try  what  yet  remains  between 

Of  loit'ring  time  to  cheat. 

'  But  If  the  dream,  that  soothes  my  mind. 
Shall  false  and  groundless  prove; 

If  I  am  doomed,  at  length  to  find 
You  have  forgot  to  love : 

245 


George  Lyttelion,  Lord  Lyttelton. 

'  All  I  of  Venus  ask  is  this — 

No  more  to  let  us  join ; 
But  grant  me  here,  the  flatt'ring  bliss 

To  die,  and  think  you  mine ! ' 


Written  in  the  year  1732. 

Say,  Myra  !   why  is  gentle  Love 
A  stranger  to  that  mind, 

Which  pity  and  esteem  can  move  ? 
Which  can  be  just  and  kind  ? 


Is  it  because  you  fear  to  share 
The  ills  that  Love  molest  ? 

The  jealous  doubt,  the  tender  care, 
That  rack  the  am'rous  breast  ? 


Alas,  by  some  degree  of  woe, 

We  ev'ry  bliss  must  win ! 
The  heart  can  ne'er  a  transport  know, 

That  never  feels  a  pain! 


246 


George  Lyttelton,  Loi'd  Lyttelton. 


POEMS 
WRITTEN  TO  MISS  LUCY  FORTES  CUE, 

WHO    BECAME    HIS    JVlFE. 

To  him  who  in  an  hour  must  die, 
Not  swifter  seems  that  hour  to  fly; 
Than  slow  the  minutes  seem  to  me, 
Which  keep  me  from  the  sight  of  thee. 

Not  more  that  trembhng  wretch  would  give 

Another  day,  or  year,  to  live ; 

Than  I,  to  shorten  what  remains 

Of  that  long  hour  which  thee  detains! 

O,  come  to  my  impatient  arms! 

O,  come,  with  all  thy  heavenly  charms! 

At  once  to  justify,  and  pay, 

The  pain  I  feel  from  this  delay. 


To  ease  my  troubled  mind  of  anxious  care, 
Last  night,  the  secret  casket  I  explored, 

Where  all  the  letters  of  my  absent  Fair 

(Her  richest  treasure !)  careful  love  had  stored. 

247 


George  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 


In  ev'ry  word,  a  magic  spell  I  found, 

Of  power  to  charm  each  busy  thought  to  rest ; 

Though  ev'ry  word  increased  the  tender  wound 
Of  fond  desire,  still  throbbing  in  my  breast. 

So  to  his  hoarded  gold,  the  miser  steals, 
And  loses  ev'ry  sorrow  at  the  sight: 

Yet,  wishes  still  for  more;    nor  ever  feels 
Entire  contentment,  or  secure  delight! 

Ah!  should  I  lose  thee,  my  too  lovely  Maid! 

Couldst  thou  forget  thy  heart  was  ever  mine! 
Fear  not  thy  letters  should  the  change  upbraid! 

My  hand  each  dear  memorial  would  resign! 

Not  one  kind  word  shall  in  my  power  remain, 
A  painful  witness  of  reproach  to  thee ! 

And,  lest  my  heart  should  still  their  sense  retain, 
My  heart  shall  break,  to  leave  thee  wholly  free 


A  PRAYER  TO  VENUS, 
IN  HER    TEMPLE   AT  STOWE. 

Fair  Venus!    whose  delightful  Shrine  surveys 
Its  front  reflected  in  the  silver  lake, 

These  humble  off'rings,  which  thy  servant  pays. 
Fresh  flowers  and  myrtle  wreaths,  propitious  take 
248 


George  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lytteltoii. 

If  less  my  love  exceeds  all  other  love 

Than  Lucy's  charms  all  other  charms  excel ; 

Far  from  my  breast,  each  soothing  hope  remove ; 
And  there,  let  sad  despair  for  ever  dwell! 

But  if  my  soul  is  filled  with  her  alone, 
Nor  other  wish,  nor  other  object,  knows ; 

O,  make  her,  Goddess !    make  her  all  my  own  ! 
And  give  my  trembling  heart  secure  repose! 

No  watchful  spies  I  ask,  to  guard  her  charms! 

No  walls  of  brass!    no  steel-defended  door! 
Place  her  but  once  within  my  circling  arms, 

Love's  surest  fort;    and   I  will  doubt  no  more! 


ON  HER  PLEADING  WANT  OF  TIME. 

On  Thames's  bank,  a  gentle  Youth 
For  Lucy  sighed,  with  matchless  truth, 

E'en  when  he  sighed  in  rhyme. 
The  gentle  Maid,  his  flame  returned  ; 
And  would,  with  equal  warmth  have  burned  ; 

But  that  she  had  not  time. 

Oft  he  repaired,  with  eager  feet. 
In  secret  shades  his  Fair  to  meet 

Beneath  th'  accustomed  lime. 
She  would  have  fondly  met  him  there, 
And  healed  with  love  each  tender  care  ; 

But  that  she  had  not  time. 

249 


George  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 

'It  was  not  thus,  inconstant  Maid! 
You  acted  once,'  the  Shepherd  said, 

'  When  love  was  in  its  prime ! ' 
She  grieved  to  hear  him  thus  complain, 
And  would  have  writ  to  ease  his  pain ; 

But  that  she  had  not  time. 

*  How  can  you  act  so  cold  a  part  ? 

No  crime  of  mine  has  changed  your  heart; 

If  love  be  not  a  crime ! 
We  soon  must  part,  for  months !   for  years ! ' 
She  would  have  answered  with  her  tears ; 

But  that  she  had  not  time! 


When  I  think  on  your  truth  ;  I  doubt  you  no  more! 
I  blame  all  the  fears  I  gave  way  to  before  I 
I  say  to  my  heart,  '  Be  at  rest ;    and  believe 
That  whom  once  she  has  chosen,  she  never  will  leave!' 

But,  ah !    when  I  think  on  each  ravishing  grace 
That  plays  in  the  smiles  of  that  heavenly  face ; 
My  heart  beats  again !    I  again  apprehend 
Some  fortunate  rival  in  ev'ry  friend ! 

These  painful  suspicions,  you  cannot  remove; 
Since  you  neither  can  lessen  your  charms,  nor  my  love ! 
But  doubts  caused  by  Passion,  you  never  can  blame ; 
For  they  are   not  ill-founded,  or  you  feel   the  same ! 
250 


William  Popple. 


Cupid  and  Venus  jointly  strove 

To  warm  Amintor's  heart ; 
And  give  him  all  the  joys  of  Love, 

Unmixed  with  any  smart. 

Venus  advised,  from  ev'ry  Fair, 

To  steal  the  sweetest  Grace. 
'  No !    No  ! '    says  Cupid,  '  ease  your  care  ; 

They  meet  in  Mordaunt's  face ! ' 


*Why  should  those  eyes,  Florella!  wear 

A  chilling  scorn  to  me; 
Yet  ardent  gaze  on  one  who  ne'er 

Yet  felt  a  sigh  for  thee  ? 

'  Or  why,  if  you  are  not  decreed 

To  ease  another's  pain, 
Am  I  not  of  my  Passion  freed; 

Or  you,  of  your  disdain  ? ' 

*  Forbear,  fond  Youth  ! '    Florella  said, 
'And  blame  not  me;   but  Fate! 

You're  doomed,  alas !    (by  her  betrayed !) 
To  love !    and  I  to  hate ! ' 


251 


Rev.  yohn  Hoadly. 


TO  CHLOE, 

Written  on  my  Birthday,  1734., 

The  minutes,  the  hours,  the  days,  and  the  years, 

That  fill  up  the  current  of  Time, 
Neither  flowing  with  hope,  neither  ebbing  with  fears. 

Unheeded  rolled  on  to  my  prime. 

In  Infancy  prattling,  in  Youth  full  of  play, 
Still  pleased  with  whatever  was  new; 

I  bade  the  old  Cripple  fly  swifter  away, 
To  o'ertake  some  gay  trifle  in  view! 

But  when  Chloe,  with  sweetness  and  sense  in  her 
First  taught  me  the  lesson  of  Love;  [look, 

Then,  I  counted  each  step  the  winged  Fugitive  took ; 
And  bade  him  more  leisurely  move ! 

'  Stop,  Runaway !    stop  !    nor  thy  journey  pursue ; 

For  Chloe  has  gi'en  me  her  heart! 
To  enjoy  it,  thy  years  will  prove  many  too  few! 

If  you  make  so  much  haste  to  depart.' 

Still,  still  he  flies  on!    Still,  still  let  him  fly 
Till  he  's  tired,  and  panting  for  breath! 

My  love,  both  his  teeth  and  his  scythe  shall  defy! 
That  can  only  be  conquered  by  Death! 

252 


Rev.  John  Hoadly. 


CHLOE  RESOLVED. 

As  Chloe  on  flowers  reclined  o'er  the  stream, 
She  sighed  to  the  breeze,  and  made  Colin  her  theme 
Though  pleasant  the  stream,  and  though  cooling  the 

breeze, 
And  the  flowers  though  fragrant;  she  panted  for  ease! 

The  stream,  it  was  fickle,  and  hasted  away ! 
It  kissed  the  sweet  banks;  but  no  longer  could  stay! 
Though  beauteous,  inconstant!  and  faithless,  though  fair! 
Ah  !    Colin  !   look  in  ;    and  behold  thyself  there ! 

The  breeze,  that  so  sweet  on  its  bosom  did  play, 
Now  rose  to  a  tempest,  and  darkened  the  day. 
As  sweet  as  the  breeze,  and  as  loud  as  the  wind, 
Such  Colin,  when  angry ;    and  Colin,  when  kind ! 

The  flowers,  when  gathered,  so  beauteous  and  sweet, 
Now  fade  on  her  bosom,  and  die  at  her  feet. 
So  fair  in  their  bloom,  and  so  foul  in  decay, 
Such  Colin,  when  present ;    and  Colin,  away ! 

In  rage  and  despair,  from  the  ground  she  arose; 
And  from  her,  the  flowers,   so  faded,  she  throws ! 
She  weeps  in  the  stream,  and  she  sighs  to  the  wind ; 
And  resolves  to  drive  Colin  quite  out  of  her  mind. 

But  what  her  resolves,  when  her  Colin  appeared! 
The  stream  it  stood  still,  and  no  tempest  was  heard ; 
The  flowers  recovered  their  beautiful  hue  ; 
She  found,  he  was  kind ;    and  believed,  he  was  true ! 

253 


Rev.  yohn  Hoacily. 


Fair  Sally  loved  a  bonny  Sailor. 

With  tears,  she  sent  him  out  to  roam  ; 
Young  Thomas,  taking  leave,  did  tell  her, 

He  left  with  her  his  heart  at  home. 
She  viewed  the  seas  from  off  the  hill ; 
And,  as  she  turned  her  spinning  wheel, 
Sung  of  her  bonny  Sailor ! 


The  wind  grew  loud,  and  she  grew  paler 
To  see  the  weathercock  turn  round  ; 

When,  lo !    she  spied  her  bonny  Sailor 
Come  whistling  o'er  the  fallow  ground. 

With  nimble  haste,  he  leaped  the  stile ; 

Fair  Sally  met  him  with  a  smile. 
And  hugged  her  bonny  Sailor. 


Fast  round  the  waist  he  took  his  Sally, 
But  first  around  his  mouth  wiped  he ; 
Like  home-bred  Spark  he  could  not  dally; 
But  pressed  and  kissed  her  with  a  glee ! 
'  Through  winds,  and  waves,  and  dashing  rain/ 
Said  he,  '  thy  Tom  's  returned  again, 
To  bring  a  heart  for  Sally  ! ' 
254 


Rev.  yohn  Hoadly. 


*  Welcome ! '  cried  she,  *  my  constant  Thomas  ! 

Though  out  of  sight,  ne'er  out  of  mind ! 
The  seas,  our  hearts  have  parted  from  us  ; 

Yet  still  my  thoughts  were  left  behind. 
So  much  my  thoughts  took  Tommy's  part, 
That  time,  nor  absence,  from  my  heart 
Could  drive  my  constant  Thomas!' 


'This  knife,  the  gift  of  lovely  Sally! 

Which  still   I've  kept  for  her  dear  sake, 
A  thousand  times,  in  am'rous  folly. 

Her  name  has  carved  upon  the  deck. 
Again  this  happy  pledge  returns. 
To  show  how  truly  Thomas  burns, 
How  truly  burns  for  Sally  !  * 


'  This  thimble,  thou  didst  give  to  Sally  ; 

Whene'er  I  see,  I  think  on  you! 
Then  why  should  Tom  stand  shilly,  shall  I, 

When  yonder  steeple  's  in  our  view  ? ' 
Tom,  never  to  occasion  blind, 
Now  took  her  in  the  coming  mind ; 
And  went  to  Church  with  Sally. 


255 


Colley  Cibber,  P.L. 


What  Woman  could  do,   I  have  tried,  to  be  free ! 

Yet  do  all  I  can, 
I  find  I  love  him !    And  though  he  flies  me ; 

Still,  still,  he  's  the  man ! 
They  tell  me,  *  At  once,  he  to  twenty  will  swear ! ' 
When  vows  are  so  sweet;  who,  the  falsehood  will  fear? 
So,  when  you  have  said  all  you  can, 

Still,  still,  he  's  the  man ! 


I  caught  him  once  making  love  to  a  Maid. 

When  to  him  I   ran ; 
He  turned,  and  he  kissed  me  !  Then,  who  could  upbraid 

So  civil  a  man  ? 
The  next  day,  I  found,  to  a  third  he  was  kind. 
I  rated  him  soundly!     He  swore,  'I  was  blind!' 
So,  let  me  do  what  I  can. 

Still,  still,  he   s  the  man! 


All  the  World  bids  me,  *  Beware  of  his  art !  * 

I  do  what  I  can : 
But  he  has  taken  such  hold  of  my  heart, 

I  doubt  he  's  the  man ! 
So  sweet  are  his  kisses,  his  looks  are  so  kind ; 
He  may  have  his  faults :    but  if  I   none  can  find, 
Who  can  do  more  than  they  can  ? 
Still,  still,  he  's  the  man ! 
256  


Colley  Gibber,  F.L. 


THE  BLIND  BOY. 

'  O,  SAY,  What  is  that  thing  called  Light  ? 

Which  I  can  ne'er  enjoy. 
What  is  the  blessing  of  the  sight  ? 

O,  tell  your  poor  blind  boy ! 

'You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see, 
You  say,  "  The  sun  shines  bright ! " 

I  feel  him  warm ;   but  how  can  he 
Then  make  it  day,  or  night  ? 

'  My  day,  or  night,  myself  I  make ; 

Whene'er  I  wake,  or  play : 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake, 

It  would  be  always  day! 

'With  heavy  sighs,  I  often  hear 
You  mourn  my  hopeless  woe : 

But,  sure,  with  patience  I  may  bear 
A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know ! 

*  Then,  let  not  what  I  cannot  have, 

My  cheer  of  mind  destroy! 
Whilst  thus  I  sing,  "  I  am  a  King ; 

Although  a  poor  blind  boy!"' 


BKIT.   ANIH.   VIII.  S  257 


Anonymous. 


CUPID  AND  FORTUNE  FALLEN  OUT. 

Cupid  and  Fortune  long  agreed, 
In  ties  of  sacred  friendship  bound  : 

Yet  what  his  purposes  decreed, 

Her  blind  mistakes  would  oft  confound. 


When  thus  Love's  God,  '  I   now  defy 
Thy  fickle  arts !    thy  Power  disown ! 

Goddess !    thou'rt  blinder  far  than   I ; 
I  and  Mamma  will  reign  alone ! 

'  Thy  gawdy  gifts,  the  rich  brocade, 
The  gilded  chariot,  smart  toupee, 

The  silver  hilt,  the  untried  blade, 
No  more  Love's  enginry  shall  be! 

'  E'en  Pin  Money  shall  lose  its  charms, 
Nor  more  invade  the  virgin  breast! 

So  you  may  shut  your  lavish  arms. 
And  set  your  tott'ring  Wheel  at  rest! 

'  Or  if  my  wounds,  in  vain,  are  made. 
Or  should  my  vot'ries  prove  untrue ; 

I'd  call  in  Virtue  to  my  aid, 
Not  such  a  termagant  as  you  ! ' 

258 


Anonymous. 


'  That  idoHzer  of  your  power, 

Strephon  !    shall  rue  for  this  ! '  she  cries  ; 
Then  wings  it  to  that  happy  Bower, 

Which  MiRA  gladdens  with  her  eyes. 


Hence,  Fortune  (Strephon's  worst  of  foes !) 
Labours  to  cross  his  eager  flame, 

To  MiRA  treach'rous  favour  shows. 
MiRA  might  all  her  favours  claim ! 


This  raised  the  Nymph  to  such  a  height, 
Created  in  the  Swain  such  fears. 

That  he  could  scarce,  or  speak,  or  write ; 
Much  less  with  Sonnets  charm  her  ears. 


The  Goddess,  hostile  in  her  smiles, 
Having  Love's  schemes  almost  undone, 

Thus  twits  him  for  his  baffled  wiles, 
'  Pray,  how  goes  Mira's  business  on  ? 


'  That  's  no  concern  of  mine !   you'll  say : 

Yet  if  I'm  not  a  party  made. 
Blind  as  I  am,  I'll  find  a  way 

To  spoil  your  whining  am'rous  trade ! ' 

s  2  259 


Anonymous, 


In  rage,  the  little  God  repairs 
Where  Virtue's  sacred  Temples  rise; 

Where  Vanity  ne'er  shows  her  Airs, 

Nor  Flattry  comes,  full  fraught  with  lies. 


He  saw  the  Goddess,  heavenly  fair, 
Enthroned,  with  looks  sedately  wise : 

Open  Simplicity  was  there ; 

And  modest  Truth,  without  disguise. 


Then,  he  begins  the  Case  to  state, 

Tells  Strephon's  faith,  and  Mira's  charms ; 

Intreats,  she'd  the  blind  Gipsy  rate! 
She  spoke ;   and  thus  his  rage  disarms. 


'  If  Strephon,  when  approved,  shall  be 
So  full  of  truth  without  design, 

He  shall  not  want  a  friend  in  me; 

And  MiRA  's  a  known  friend  of  mine! 


*  Her  pity  shall  more  pleasure  give 
Than  happy  rapturous  Lovers  write ! 

On  which,  poor  Strephon  yet  may  live ; 
And  triumph  over  Fortune's  spite.' 


260 


Henry  Fielding. 


The  dusky  night  rides  down  the  sky, 

And  ushers  in  the  morn ! 
The  hounds  all  join  in  glorious  cry! 

The  hunter  winds  his  horn ! 

And  a  hunting  we  will  go ! 

The  wife,  around  her  husband  throws 

Her  arms,  and  begs  his  stay, 
'  My  dear,  it  rains !  and  hails !  and  snows ! 

You  will  not  hunt  to-day ! ' 

But  a  huntingf  we  will  2^0 ! 

*  A  brushing  fox,  in  yonder  wood, 

Secure  to  find  we  seek ; 
P'or  why  ?    I   carried,  sound  and  good, 

A  cartload  there  last  week. 

And  a  hunting  we  will  go ! ' 

Away  he  goes !     He  flies  the  rout ! 

Their  steeds  all  spur  and  switch  ! 
Some  are  thrown  in,  and  some  thrown  out ; 

And  some  thrown  in  the  ditch. 
But  a  hunting  we  will  go  1 

At  length,  his  strength  to  faintness  worn, 

Poor  Reynard  ceases  flight. 
Then,  hungry,  homeward  we  return, 

To  feast  away  the  night. 

Then  a  drinking  we  will  go ! 

261 


Fielding  and  Leveridge. 


[April  1734.] 

When  mighty  Roast  Beef  was  the  Englishman's  food, 
It  ennobled  our  hearts,  and  enriched  our  blood ! 
Our  soldiers  were  brave,  and  our  Courtiers  were  good! 

O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England, 

And  Old  England's  Roast  Beef! 

Then,  Britons !  from  all  nice  dainties  refrain ; 
Which  effeminate  Italy,  France,  and  Spain ! 
And  mighty  Roast  Beef  shall  command  on  the  Main ! 
O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 


RICHARD   LEVERIDGE. 

[May  1735.] 

When  mighty  Roast  Beef  was  the  Englishman's  food, 
It  ennobled  our  veins,  and  enriched  our  blood ! 
Our  soldiers  were  brave,  and  our  Courtiers  were  good! 

O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England, 

And  Old  English  Roast  Beef! 

But  since  we  have  learned  from  all-conquering  France, 

To  eat  their  ragouts,  as  well  as  to  dance, 

We  are  fed  up  with  nothing  but  vain  complaisance. 

O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 

262 


Richard  Leveridge. 


Our  fathers,  of  old,  were  robust,  stout,  and  strong ; 
And  kept  open  house,  with  good  cheer,  all  day  long, 
Which  made  their  plump  tenants  rejoice  in  this  Song. 
O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 

But,  now,  we  are  dwindled,  to  what  shall   I  name ! 
A  sneaking,  poor  race,  half-begotten  and  tame ; 
Who  sully  those  honours  that  once  shone  in  fame. 
O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 


When  good  Queen  Elizabeth  sat  on  the  throne. 
Ere  Coffee,  and  Tea,  and  such  slip-slops  were  known ; 
The  World  was  in  terror,  if  e'er  she  did  frown ! 
O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 

In  those  days,  if  fleets  did  presume  on  the  Main ; 
They  seldom,  or  never,  returned  back  again  ! 
As  witness,  the  vaunting  Armada  of  Spain ! 
O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 

O,  then,  they  had  stomachs  to  eat  and  to  fight ; 
And  when  wrongs  were  a  cooking,  to  do  themselves 
right ! 

But,  now,  we're  a I   could ;   but  Good-night ! 

O,  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England,  &c. 


263 


Richard  Leveridge. 


The  Play  of  Love  is  now  begun ; 
And  thus  the  Actions  do  eo  on. 
Strephon,  enamoured,  courts  the  Fair: 
She  hears  him  with  a  careless  air, 
And  smiles  to  find  him  in  Love's  snare. 

The  Act  Tune  played ;  they  meet  again. 
Here,  pity  moves  her  for  his  pain  : 
Which  She  evades  with  some  pretence, 
And  thinks  She  may  with  love  dispense ; 
But  pants  to  hear  a  Man  of  Sense ! 

The  third  approach  her  Lover  makes, 
She  colours  up  whene'er  he  speaks : 
But,  with  feigned  slights,  still  puts  him  by; 
And  faintly  cries,   '  She  can't  comply  ! ' 
Although  She  gives  her  heart  the  lie. 

Now  the  plot  rises.     He  seems  shy, 

As  if  some  other  Fair  he'd  try; 

At  which.  She  swells  with  spleen  and  fear, 

Lest  some  more  wise  his  love  should  share ! 

Which,  yet,  no  woman  e'er  can  bear! 

The  last  Act  now  is  wrought  so  high. 
That  thus  it  crowns  the  Lover's  joy! 
She  does  no  more  his  Passion  shun. 
He  straight  into  her  arms  does  run.     ■ 
The  Curtain  falls !     The   Play  is  done  ! 
264 


Rev.    yames  Miller. 


How  brimful  of  Nothing  's  the  life  of  a  Beau  ! 
They've  Nothing  to  think  of!  They've  Nothing  to  do! 
Nor  they've  Nothing  to  talk  of — for  Nothing  they  know! 
Such,  such  is  the  Hfe  of  a  Beau ! 

For  Nothing  they  rise,  but  to  draw  the  fresh  air ! 
Spend  the  morning  in  Nothing  but  curling  their  hair! 
And  do  Nothing  all  day,  but  sing,  saunter,  and  stare ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Beau ! 

For  Nothing,  at  night,  to  the  Playhouse  they  crowd  i 
For  to  mind  Nothing  done  there,  they  always  are  proud  ; 
But  to  bow,  and  to  grin,  and  to  talk  Nothing  aloud ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Beau  1 

For  Nothing,  they  run  to  th'  Assembly  and  Ball ; 
And  for  Nothing,  at  cards  a  fair  Partner  call : 
For  they  still  must  be  beasted,  who've  Nothing  at  all ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Beau  I 

For  Nothing,  on  Sundays,  at  Church  they  appear ; 
For  they've  Nothing  to  hope ;  nor  they've  Nothing  to 

fear ! 
They  can  be  Nothing  nowhere,  who  Nothing  are  here  ! 
Such,  such  is  the  life  of  a  Beau ! 


265 


Henry  Carey. 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY. 

Of  all  the  Girls  that  are  so  smart, 

There  's  none  like  pretty  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 
There  is  no  Lady  in  the  land 

Is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart ; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 

Her  father,  he  makes  cabbage-nets. 

And  through  the  streets  does  cry  them ; 
Her  mother,  she  sells  laces  long. 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  them. 
But,  sure,  such  folks  could  ne'er  beget 

So  sweet  a  Girl  as  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart ; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 

When  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work 

(I  love  her  so  sincerely!), 
My  master  comes,  like  any  Turk, 

And  bangs  me  most  severely. 
But  let  him  bang  his  bellyful; 

I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 
266 


Henry  Carey 


Of  all  the  days  that  's  in  the  week, 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day ! 
And  that  's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

A  Saturday  and  Monday. 
For  then  I'm  dressed,  all  in  my  best, 

To  walk  abroad  with  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 


My  master  carries  me  to  Church  ; 

And  often  I  am  blamed. 
Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch 

As  soon  as  Text  is  named. 
I  leave  the  Church,  in  Sermon  time, 

And  slink  away  to  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart ; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 


When  Christmas  comes  about  again, 

O,  then  I  shall  have  money! 
I'll  hoard  it  up,  and  Box  and  all 

I'll  give  it  to  my  Honey ! 
And  would  it  were  Ten  Thousand  Pounds ; 

I'd  give  it  all  to  Sally  ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart; 

And  she  lives  in  our  Alley. 

267 


Henry  Carey. 


My  master  and  the  neighbours  all, 

Make  game  of  me  and  Sally  ; 
And  (but  for  her!)  I'd  better  be 

A  slave,  and  row  a  galley  ! 
But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out, 

O,  then  I'll  marry  Sally  ! 
O,  then  we'll  wed,  and  then  we'll  bed  ; 

But  not  in  our  Alley! 


HARRY  CAREY'S  GENERAL  REPLY 

TO    THE    LIBELLING    GeNTRY,    WHO    ARE    ANGRY 
AT   HIS    WELFARE. 

With  an  honest  old  friend,  and  a  merry  old  Song, 
And  a  flask  of  old  Port;    let  me  sit  the  night  long, 
And  laugh  at  the  malice  of  those  who  repine, 
That  they  must  swig  Porter,  while  I  can  drink  Wine ! 

I  envy  no  mortal,  though  ever  so  great ; 
Nor  scorn  I  a  wretch,  for  his  low  estate ! 
But  what  I  abhor,  and  esteem  as  a  curse, 
Is  poorness  of  spirit;    not  poorness  in  purse! 

Then,  dare  to  be  generous,  dauntless,  and  gay ! 
Let  's  merrily  pass  life's  remainder  away  ! 
Upheld  by  our  friends;   we  our  foes  may  despise! 
For  the  more  we  are  envied,  the  higher  we  rise  ! 
268  


Henry  Carey. 


A    YORKSHIRE  SONG, 

I  AM,  in  truth,  a  Country  Youth, 

Unused  to  London  fashions ; 
Yet  Virtue  guides,  and  still  presides 

O'er  all  my  steps  and  Passions. 
No  courtly  leer,  but  all  sincere  ! 

No  bribe  shall  ever  blind  me  ! 
If  you  can  like  a  Yorkshire  Tike, 

An  honest  man  you'll  find  me  ! 

Though  Envy's  tongue,  with  slander  hung, 

Does  oft  belie  our  County ; 
No  men  on  earth  boast  greater  worth ; 

Or  more  extend  their  bounty  ! 
Our  northern  breeze,  with  us  agrees ; 

And  does  for  business  fit  us! 
In  public  cares,  in  Love's  affairs, 

With  honour  we  acquit  us  ! 

A  noble  mind  is  ne'er  confined 

To  any  shire,  or  nation  ! 
He  gains  most  praise,  who  best  displays 

A  gen'rous  education ! 
While  rancour  rolls  in  narrow  souls, 

By  narrow  views  discerning; 
The  truly  wise  will  only  prize 

Good  Manners,  Sense,  and  Learning ! 

269 


Henry  Carey. 


THE  FINE  LADY'S  LIFE, 

OR 

The  thoughts  of  an  ambitious  Country  Girl 
on  the  pleasures  of  the   town. 

What  though  they  call  me  Country  Lass; 
I  read  it  plainly  in  my  Glass, 
That  for  a  Duchess  I  might  pass  ! 

O,  could  I  see  the  day ! 
Would  Fortune  but  attend  my  call, 
At  Park,  at  Play,  at  Ring,  at'  Ball ; 
I'd  brave  the  proudest  of  them  all ; 

With  a  'Stand  by!    Clear  the  way!' 


Surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  Beaus, 

With  smart  toupees  and  powdered  clothes  ; 

At  rivals  I'll  turn  up  my  nose ! 

O,  could  I  see  the  day! 
I'll  dart  such  glances  from  these  eyes, 
Shall  make  some  Lord,  or  Duke,  my  prize ! 
And  then,  O,  how  I'll  tyrannize  ; 

With  a  '  Stand  by  !    Clear  the  way  ! ' 


Henry  Carey, 


O,  then  for  ev'ry  new  delight, 
For  equipage  and  diamonds  bright, 
Quadrille,  and  Plays,  and  Balls,  all  night! 

O,  could  I  see  the  day ! 
Of  love  and  joy  I'd  take  my  fill! 
The  tedious  hours  of  life  to  kill. 
In  ev'rything  I'd  have  my  will ; 

With  a  '  Stand  by !    Clear  the  way !  ' 


THE  ROMP'S  SONG. 

O,  I'll  have  a  husband !   aye,  marry ! 
For  why  should  I  longer  tarry 

Than  other  brisk  Girls  have  done  ? 
For  if  I  stay  till  I  grow  grey, 
They'll  call  me  Old  Maid,  and  fusty  Old  Jade 
So  I'll  no  longer  tarry ; 
But  I'll  have  a  husband !    aye,  marry ! 
If  money  can  buy  me  one. 

My  mother,  she  says  'I'm  too  coming!' 
And  still  in  my  ears  she  is  drumming, 

That  I   such  vain  thoughts  should  shun ! 
My  sisters,  they  cry  '  O,  fie  ! '  and  '  O  fie  ! '  ; 
But  yet  I  can  see,  they're  as  coming  as  me  ! 
So  let  me  have  husbands  in  plenty  ! 
I'd  rather  have  twenty  times  twenty 
Than  die  an  Old  Maid  undone ! 


271 


Henry  Carey. 


CARETS  WISH. 

Cursed  be  the  wretch  that 's  bought  and  sold ; 
And  barters  Hberty  for  gold ! 
For  when  Election  is  not  free, 
In  vain,  we  boast  of  liberty ; 
And  he  who  sells  his  single  Right, 
Would  sell  his  country,  if  he  might! 

When  Liberty  is  put  to  sale 
For  wine,  for  money,  or  for  ale. 
The  sellers  must  be  abject  slaves ; 
The  buyers,  vile  designing  knaves ! 
A  proverb  it  has  been  of  old, 
'  The  Devil  's  bought,  but  to  be  sold ! ' 

This  maxim,  in  the  Statesman's  School, 
Is  always  taught,  Divide !  and  Rule  ! 
All  Parties  are  to  him  a  joke ! 
While  zealots  foam,  he  fits  the  yoke ! 
When  men  their  reason  once  resume  ; 
'Tis  then  the  Statesman's  turn  to  fume! 

Learn,  learn,  ye  Britons  !    to  unite ! 
Leave  off  the  old  exploded  Bite  ; 
Henceforth,  let  Whig  and  Tory  cease, 
And  turn  all   Party  rage  to  peace ! 

[Then  follow  in  the  1729  Text.] 

Rouse  !    and  revive  your  ancient  glory ! 
Unite  and  drive  the  World  before  ye ! 

[But  in  the  1731  Text.] 

Then  shall  we  see  a  glorious  scene  ; 
And  so,  GOD  save  the  King  and  Queen! 


Henry  Carey 


THE    CONFLICT 

BETWEEN   LOVE    AND     WINE. 

Alone,  by  a  lonely  willow, 

Poor  Damon  sighing  lay ; 
The  grass  was  his  only  pillow, 

Alack  !    and  well-a-day ! 

I  came,  with  my  flask ; 

And  I  gave  him  drink. 
Had  it  been  a  whole  cask, 

He'd  have  drunk  it,  I  think. 

He  danced  and  he  sang, 

And  he  capered  like  mad ! 
And  swore,  '  He'd  have  more, 

If  more  could  be  had ! ' 

But  Celia,  with  charms  surrounded, 
Came  tripping  it  o'er  the  plain. 

The  Shepherd  afresh  was  wounded; 
And  all  undone  again. 

He  called  her,  his  Goddess !     She  called  him,  an  ass  ! 
I  plied  him  again  with  a  cherishing  Glass. 
He  laughed  at  her  scorn,  and  her  power  he  defied  ; 
And  vowed  his  dear  Bottle  should  alone  be  his  Bride ! 


BRIT.  ANTH.  VIII.  T  273 


Henry  Carey. 


The  earliest  Texts  of  the  National  Anthem. 

I.  In  a  folio  Volume  of  engraved  Songs  called  Harmonica  Anglicana, 
without  date,  but  published  before  November  1742;  and  afterwards 
increased  to  two  folio  Volumes,  and  published,  also  without  date,  but 
about  1745,  under  the  title  of  Thesaurus  Musicus. 

A  LOYAL  SONG, 

SUNG    AT    THE    ThEATRES    RoYAL. 

For  Two    Voices. 

GOD  save  great  George  our  King ! 
Long  live  our  noble  King ! 

GOD  save  the  King! 
Send  him  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious. 
Long  to  reign  over  us, 

GOD  save  the  King! 

O,  Lord,  our  GOD,  arise! 
Scatter  our  enemies  ; 

And  make  them  fall  I 
Confound  their  politics ! 
Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks! 
On  Thee  our  hopes  we  fix  ! 

GOD  save  us  all! 
274 


Carey  and  Anonymous. 


Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store, 

On  George,  be  pleased  to  pour! 

Long  may  he  reign ! 
May  he  defend  our  laws ; 
And  ever  give  us  cause 
With  heart  and  voice  to  sing, 

GOD  save  the  Kino- 1 

o 


II.  The  above  Anthem  was  reprinted  in  the   Gentlematfs  Magazine 
for  October  1745,  in  the  Contents  Page  of  which,  it  is  described  as :  — 

GOD  save  our  Lord  the  King. 
A  NEW  Song,  set  for  Two  Voices. 


Which  wording  also  occurs  in  the  Contents  Page  of  the   Thesaurus  Musicus 
above  mentioned. 


III.  In  November  1745,  when  the  Young  Pretender  was  marching 
into  England,  the  Anthem  appeared  in  an  engraved  musical  Half  Sheet, 
with  the  following  additional  stanza  : — 

O,  grant  that  Marshal  Wade 
May,  by  Thy  mighty  aid, 

Victory  bring ! 
May  he  sedition  hush  ; 
And  like  a  torrent  rush 
Rebellious  Scots  to  crush! 

GOD  save  the  Kine! 


T  2 


275 


Henry  Carey. 


MRS.    STUARTS  RETIREMENT. 

From  the  Court,  to  the  Cottage  convey  me  away ! 

For  I'm  weary  of  grandeur,  and  what  they  call  '  gay ' ; 
Where   Pride  without  measure, 
And  Pomp  without  pleasure, 

Make  life,  in  a  circle  of  hurry,  decay. 


Far  remote  and  retired  from  the  noise  of  the  Town ; 
I'll  exchange  my  brocade  for  a  plain  russet  gown ! 

My  friends  shall  be  few, 

But  well  chosen  and  true ; 
And  sweet  recreation,  our  evening  shall  crown ! 


With  a  rural  repast,  a  rich  banquet  to  me. 

On  a  mossy  green  bank,  near  some  shady  old  tree. 

The  river's  clear  brink 

Shall  afford  me  my  drink  ; 
And  Temp' ranee,  my  friendly   Physician  shall  be ! 


Ever  calm  and  serene,  with  contentment  still  blest, 
Not  too  giddy  witii  joy,  or  with  sorrow  deprest, 
I'll  neither  invoke, 
Nor  repine  at.  Death's  stroke ! 
But  retire  from  the  world,  as  I  would  to  my  rest. 
276  


Catharine  Cockbtirn. 


*An!   gaze  not  on  those  eyes!     Forbear 
That  soft  enchanting  voice  to  hear  ! 
Not  looks  of  basilisks  give  surer  death  ; 
Nor  Sirens  sing  with  more  destructive  breatli ! 

'  Fly !    if  thy  freedom  thou'dst  maintain  ! 
Alas !    I  feel  th'  advice  is  vain  ! 
A  heart,  whose  safety  but  in  flight  does  lie, 
Is  far  too  lost,  to  have  the  power  to  fly  ! ' 


Soft  kisses  may  be  innocent ; 

But,  ah !    too  easy  Maid,  beware ! 
Though  that  is  all  thy  kindness  meant; 

'Tis  Love's  delusive  fatal  snare ! 

No  Virgin  e'er,  at  first,  designed 

Through  all  the  Maze  of  Love  to  stray ; 

But  each  new  path  allures  her  mind, 
Till,  wand'ring  on,  she  lose  her  way ! 

'Tis  easy,  ere  set  out,  to  stay  ; 

But  who  the  useful  art  can  teach, 
When  sliding  down  a  steepy  way. 

To  stop,  before  the  end  we  reach  ? 

Keep  ever  something  in  thy  power, 
Beyond  what  would  thy  honour  stain  ! 

He  will  not  dare  to  aim  at  more, 

Who  for  small  favours  sighs  in  vain ! 

277 


yames  Thomson. 


If  those  who  Hve  in  Shepherd's  bower, 
Press  not  the  rich  and  stately  bed ; 

The  new-mown  hay  and  breathing  flower 
A  softer  couch  beneath  them  spread ! 

If  those  who  sit  at  Shepherd's  board, 
Soothe  not  their  taste  by  wanton  art; 

They  take  what  Nature's  gifts  afford. 
And  take  it  with  a  cheerful  heart ! 

If  those  who  drain  the  Shepherd's  bowl, 
No  high  and  sparkling  wines  can  boast ; 

With  wholesome  cups   they  cheer  the  soul, 
And  crown  them  with  the  village  Toast! 

If  those  who  join  in  Shepherd's  sport, 
Gay  dancing  on  the  daisied  mead. 

Have  not  the  splendour  of  a  Court; 
Yet  Love  adorns  the  merry  Round! 


Unless  with  my  Amanda  blest, 

In  vain,   I  twine  the  woodbine  bower! 

Unless  to  deck  her  sweeter  breast, 

In  vain,  I  wreathe  the  breathing  flower 

Awakened  by  the  genial  year. 

In  vain,  the  birds  around  me  sing! 

In  vain,  the  fresh'ning  fields  appear ! 
Without  my  Love,  there  is  no  Spring ! 

278  — — 


yames  Thomson. 


When  Britain  first,  at  Heaven's  command, 

Arose  from  out  the  azure  Main, 
This  was  the  Charter  of  the  land  ; 

And  guardian  Angels  sung  this  strain  : 
'  Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves  ! 
Britons  never  will  be  slaves ! 

'  The  nations,  not  so  blessed  as  thee, 
Must,  in  their  turns,  to  tyrants  fall ! 

While  thou  shalt  flourish  great  and  free, 
The  dread  and  envy  of  them  all ! 

Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves  ! '  &c. 

*  Still  more  majestic  shalt  thou  rise. 

More  dreadful,  from  each  foreign  stroke ; 
As  the  loud  blast,  that  tears  the  skies, 
Serves  but  to  root  thy  native  oak ! 

Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves ! '    &c. 

*  Thee  haughty  tyrants  ne'er  shall  tame ! 

All  their  attempts  to  bend  thee  down, 
Will  but  arouse  thy  generous  flame ! 
But  work  their  woe,  and  thy  renown ! 
Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves ! '   &c. 

*  To  thee  belongs  the  rural  reign  ; 

Thy  cities  shall  with  commerce  shine ! 
All  thine  shall  be  the  subject  Main ; 
And  every  shore  it  circles  thine ! 

Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves ! '   &c. 

279 


yames  Thomson. 


'  The  Muses,  still  with  Freedom  found, 
Shall  to  thy  happy  coast  repair ! 

Blest  Isle !    with  matchless  beauty  crowned ; 
And  manly  hearts  to  guard  the  Fair ! 
Rule,  Britannia  !    rule  the  waves ! '   &c. 


For  ever,  Fortune  !    wilt  thou  prove 
An  unrelenting  foe  to  Love ! 
And  when  we  meet  a  mutual  heart, 
Come  in  between,  and  bid  us  part ! 

Bid  us  sigh  on,  from  day  to  day; 
And  wish,  and  wish  the  soul  away ! 
Till  youth  and  genial  years  are  flown ; 
And  all  the  life  of  life  is  g-one ! 

But  busy,  busy  still  art  thou. 
To  bind  the  loveless,  joyless  vow ! 
The  heart  from  pleasure  to  delude  ! 
To  join  the  gentle  to  the  rude ! 

For  once,  O,  Fortune!    hear  my  prayer; 
And  I  absolve  thy  future  care ! 
All  other  blessings   I   resign  ; 
Make  but  the  dear  Amanda  mine ! 


280 


yames  TJiomson. 


Hard  is  the  fate  of  him  who  loves ; 

Yet  dares  not  tell  his  trembling  pain 
But  to  the  sympathetic  groves ! 

But  to  the  lonely  listening  plain ! 

O,  when  She  blesses  next  your  shade, 
O,  when  her  footsteps  next  are  seen 

In  flowery  tracts  along  the  mead, 
In  fresher  mazes  o'er  the  Green ; 

Ye  gentle  Spirits  of  the  Vale! 

(To  whom  the  tears  of  love  are  dear) 
From  dying  lilies  waft  a  gale, 

And  sigh  my  sorrows  in  her  ear! 

O,  tell  her,  what  She  cannot  blame, 

Though  fear  my  tongue   must  ever  bind, 

O,  tell  her,  that  my  virtuous  flame 
Is  as  her  spotless  soul  refined! 

Not  her  own  guardian  angel  eyes 
With  chaster  tenderness  his  care ! 

Not  purer  her  own  wishes  rise ! 

Not  holier  her  own  sighs  in  prayer! 

But  if,  at  first,  her  virgin  fear 

Should  start  at  Love's  suspected  name ; 
With  that  of  Friendship  soothe  her  ear ! 

True  Love  and  Friendship  are  the  same 

281 


yaines  Thoniso^t. 


O,  NIGHTINGALE !    best  poct  of  the  grove ! 

That  plaintive  strain  can  ne'er  belong  to  thee, 
Blessed  in  the  full  possession  of  thy  love ! 

O,  lend  that  strain,  sweet  nightingale !    to  me ! 

'Tis  mine,  alas !    to  mourn  my  wretched  fate ! 

I  love  a  Maid,  who  all  my  bosom  charms  ; 
Yet  lose  my  days,  without  this  lovely  mate ! 

Inhuman  Fortune  keeps  her  from  my  arms ! 

You,  happy  birds !    by  Nature's  simple  laws, 

Lead  your  soft  lives,  sustained  by  Nature's  fare! 

You  dwell  wherever  roving  fancy  draws ; 

And  Love  and  Song  is  all  your  pleasing  care. 

But  we  (vain  slaves  of  Interest  and  Pride!) 

Dare  not  be  blessed,  lest  envious  tongues    should 
blame ! 

And  hence,  in  vain,   I  languish  for  my  Bride ! 

O,  mourn  with  me,  sweet  bird !    my  hapless  flame ! 


One  day,  the  God  of  fond  desire. 

On  mischief  bent,  to  Damon  said, 
'  Why  not  disclose  your  tender  fire  ? 
Not  own  it  to  the  lovely  Maid?' 
282 


yanies   Thomson. 


The  Shepherd  marked  his  treacherous  art ; 

And,  softly  sighing,  thus  repHed. 
*  'Tis  true,  you  have  subdued  my  heart ; 

But  shall  not  triumph  o'er  my  pride ! 

'  The  slave,  in  private  only  bears 

Your  bondage,  who  his  love  conceals ; 

But  when  his  Passion  he  declares, 

You  drag  him  at  your  chariot  wheels ! ' 


Come,  gentle  God  of  soft  desire ! 

Come,  and  possess  my  happy  breast! 
Not,  Fury-like,  in  flames  and  fire ; 

Or  frantic  Folly's  wildness  drest. 

But  come  in   Friendship's  angel-guise ; 

Yet  dearer  thou,  than  Friendship  art ! 
More  tender  spirit  in  thy  eyes ! 

More  sweet  emotions  at  the  heart! 

O,  come,  with  Goodness  in  thy  Train  I 

With   Peace,  and  Pleasure  void  of  storm 
And  wouldst  thou  me  for  ever  gain ; 


Put  on  Amanda's  winnins:  form ! 

O 


283 


yames  Thomson. 


TO  SERAPHINA. 

The  Wanton's  charms,  however  bright, 
Are  like  the  false  illusive  light ; 
Whose  flatt'ring  unauspicious  blaze, 
To  precipices  oft  betrays. 
But  that  sweet  ray  your  beauties  dart, 
Which  clears  the  mind,  and  cleans  the  heart, 
Is  like  the  sacred  Oueen  of  Night : 
Who  pours  a  lovely  gentle  light 
Wide  o'er  the  dark ;    by  wanderers  blest, 
Conducting  them  to  peace  and  rest. 


A  vicious  love  depraves  the  mind  ! 
'Tis  Anguish,  Guilt,  and  Folly  joined ! 
But  Serappiina's  eyes  dispense 
A  mild  and  gracious  influence ; 
Such  as,  in  visions.  Angels  shed 
Around  the  heaven-illumined  head. 

To  love  thee,  Seraphina  !   sure, 
Is  to  be  tender,  happy,  pure ! 
'Tis  from  low  Passions  to  escape ; 
And  woo  bright  Virtue's  fairest  shape! 
'Tis  ecstasy,  with  wisdom  joined  ; 
And  Heaven  infused  into  the  mind ! 


284 


Richard  IVest. 


*  Thanks,  Chloe  !     Thy  coquetting  art, 
At  length,  hath  healed  my  love-sick  heart 

At  length,  thy  slave  is  free! 
I  feel  no  tyrant's  proud  control ! 
I  feel  no  inmate  in  my  soul 

But  Peace  and  Liberty ! 


*  Put  on  thy  looks  of  cold  disdain ; 
Or  speak  respectful !      'Tis  in  vain  ! 

Nor  frowns,  nor  smiles  can  move ! 
Those  lips  no  more  have  words  to  bind  ! 
Those  eyes  no  more  have  light  to  find 

The  path  that  leads  to  Love ! 


*  But  still  I  hear  you,  smiling,  say, 

"  'Tis  sign  you've  flung  your  chains  away  ; 

You  take  such  pains  to  show  them  ! " 
Why,  Chloe!     there  's  a  fond  delight, 
Our  former  dangers  to  recite  ; 

And  let  our  neighbours  know  them ! 

28=; 


Richard  West. 


'  After  the  thunder  of  the  wars  ; 
The  Vet'ran  thus  displays  his  scars, 

And  tells  you  of  his  pains  ! 
The  Galley  Slave,  enslaved  no  more, 
Shows  you  the  shackles  which  he  wore, 

And  where  their  mark  remains ! 


'  For  me,  I  quit  a  fickle  Fair ! 
Chloe  has  lost  a  heart  sincere ! 

Who  first  should  sing   Te  Deum  ? 
You'll  never  find  so  true  a  Swain ! 
But  women  full  as  false  and  vain, 

By  dozens  one  may  see  them  ! ' 


Dear  Gray  !    that  always  in  my  heart 
Possessest  far  the  better  part. 
What  mean  these  sudden  blasts  that  rise 
And  drive  the  Zephyrs  from  the  skies  ? 
O,  join  with  mine,  thy  tuneful  Lay, 
And  invocate  the  tardy  May ! 


Come,  fairest  Nymph !    resume  thy  reign  I 
Bring  all  the  Graces  in  thy  Train ! 
286 


Richard  West. 


With  balmy  breath,  and  flowery  tread, 
Rise  from  thy  soft  ambrosial  bed; 
Where,  in  Elysian  slumber  bound, 
Embow'ring  myrtles  veil  thee  round. 


Awake,  in  all  thy  glories  drest ! 
Recall  the  Zephyrs  from  the  West ! 
Restore  the  sun  !    revive  the  skies ! 
At  mine,  and  Nature's  call,  arise ! 
Great  Nature's  self  upbraids  thy  stay; 
And  misses  her  accustomed  May. 


See !    all  her  works  demand  thy  aid ! 
The  labours  of  Pomona  fade! 
A  plaint  is  heard  from  ev'ry  tree  ! 
Each  budding  flow'ret  calls  for  thee ! 
The  birds  forget  to  love  and  sing! 
With  storms  alone  the  forests  ring! 


Come  then,  with   Pleasure  at  thy  side! 
Diffuse  thy  vernal  spirit  wide ! 
Create,  where'er  thou  turn'st  thy  eye, 
Peace,   Plenty,  Love,  and   Harmony  ; 
Till  ev'ry  being  share  its  part. 
And  Heaven  and  Earth  be  pflad  at  heart 


&' 


287 


Sir  Charles  Hanbttry  PVilliams,  K.B. 


A  BALLAD 

IN     IMITATION     OF    MaRTIAL,    Lib.     VI.    Ep.    34.,    ON 

Lady     [^Elizabeth]      Ilchester     asking     Lord 
Ilchester,  How  many  kisses  he  would  have? 

Written  at  Redlynch  [Park,  Somerset],  in  August  1740. 

Dear  Betty  !   come,  give  me  sweet  kisses ! 

For  sweeter  no  Girl  ever  gave ! 
But  why,  in  the  midst  of  our  bHsses, 

Do  you  ask  me.  How  many  I'd  have? 
I'm  not  to  be  stinted  in  pleasure, 

Then,  prithee,  dear  Betty!    be  kind! 
For  as  I  love  thee  beyond  measure, 

To  numbers  I'll  not  be  confined ! 


Count  the  bees  that  on  Hybla  are  straying! 

Count  the  flowers  that  enamel  the  fields! 
Count  the  flocks  that  on  Tempe  are  playing; 

Or  the  grains  that  each  Sicily  yields! 
Count  how  many  stars  are  in  heaven ! 

Go,  reckon  the  sands  on  the  shore ! 
And  when  so  many  kisses  you've  given  ; 

I  still  shall  be  asking  for  more ! 
288 


Sir  Charles  Hanbiiry  Pf^illianis,  K.B. 

To  a  heart  full  of  love,  let  me  hold  thee ! 

A  heart  that,  dear  Betty  !    is  thine ! 
In  my  arms  I'll  for  ever  enfold  thee ; 

And  curl  round  thy  neck  like  a  vine! 
What  joy  can  be  greater  than  this  is  ? 

My  life  on  thy  lips  shall  be  spent ! 
But  those  who  can  number  their  kisses, 

Will  always  with  few  be  content! 


A  SONG  ON  MISS  HARRIET  HAN  BURY, 

ADDRESSED    TO    THE    ReV.    Mr.    BiRT. 

Dear  Doctor  of  St.  Mary's, 
In  the  Hundred  of  Bergavenny, 

I've  seen  such  a  Lass, 

With  a  shape  and  face 
As  never  were  matched  by  any. 

Such  wit,  such  bloom,  and  beauty. 
Has  this  girl  of  Pontypool,  Sir! 

With  eyes  that  would  make 

The  toughest  heart  ache, 
And  the  wisest  man  a  fool,  Sir! 

At  our  Fair,  t'  other  day,  she  appeared.  Sir ! 

And  the  Welshmen  all  flocked  and  viewed  her : 
And  all  of  them  said, 
'  She  was  fit  to  have  been  made 

A  Wife  for  Owen  Tudor!' 

BRIT.    ANTH.    VIII.  U  289 


Sir  Charles  Hanbury  JVilliams,  K.B. 

They  would  ne'er  have  been  tired  with  gazing ! 
And  so  much  her  charms  did  please,  Sir ! 

That  all  of  them  stayed 

Till  their  ale  grew  dead, 
And  cold  was  their  toasted  cheese,  Sir! 

How  happy  the  Lord  of  the  Manor 
That  shall  be  of  her  possessed,  Sir ! 

For  all  must  agree, 

Who  my  Harriet  shall  see, 
She  's  a  Harriet  \heriot\  of  the  best.  Sir! 

Then,  pray  make  a  Ballad  about  her! 
We  know  you  have  wit,  if  you'd  show  it. 

Then  don't  be  ashamed ! 

You  can  never  be  blamed ; 
For  a  Prophet  is  often  a  Poet! 

*  But  why  don't  you  make  one  yourself,  then  ? ' 
I  suppose  I,  by  you  shall  be  told,  Sir! 

This  beautiful  piece, 

Alas  !    is  my  niece  ; 
And,  besides,  she  *s  but  five  years  old.   Sir ! 

But  though,  my  dear  friend,  she  's  no  older; 
In  her  face,  it  may  plainly  be  seen.  Sir! 

That  this  Angel  at  five 

Will,  if  she  's  alive. 
Be  a  Goddess  at  fifteen,  Sir! 


290 


Sir  Charles  Hanbury  IVilliains,  K.B. 


At  St.  Osyth's,  near  the  Mill, 
There  dwells  a  lovely  Lass. 

O,  had  I  her  good  will, 

How  sweetly  life  would  pass ! 

No  bold  intruding  care, 

Our  bliss  should  e'er  annoy! 

Her  looks  can  gild  despair ; 
And  heighten  every  joy! 

Like  Natures    rural  scene. 
Her  artless  beauties  charm! 

Like  them,  with  joy  serene 

Our  wishing  hearts  they  warm ! 

Her  wit,  with  sweetness  crowned, 

Steals  ev'ry  sense  away  ! 
The  list'ning  Swains  around 

Forget  the  short'ning  day! 

Health,  Freedom,  Wealth,  and  Ease, 

Without  her  tasteless  are  ! 
She  gives  them  power  to  please ; 

And  makes  them  worth  our  care. 

Is  there,  ye  Powers !    a  bliss 

Reserved  for  my  share  ? 
Indulgent,  hear  my  wish  ; 

And  grant  it  all  in  her ! 

U  2  291 


Thomas  Cateshy  Paget,  Lord  Paget. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  ALMENON. 
Out  of  an  old  manuscript. 

Almenon  had  a  sort  of  merit ! 
Some  sense,  good  humour,  wit.  and  spirit; 
But  then,  he  had  a  strange  weak  side! 
He  hated  roguer}'  and  pride; 
Nor  saw  at  Court,  without  a  sneer, 
The  mummeries  he  met  with  there. 

To  Senates,  by  his  countr)^  sent. 
He  served  them  well  in  Parliament; 
Nor  would,  for  tawdry  toys,  or  pelf, 
Betray  his  trust,  and  sell  himself. 

Sincere  and  friendly,  not  punctilious; 
No  Mamamouche,  nor  supercilious: 
In  conversation  gay  and  free. 
But  liked  not  too  much  company. 

No  toping  sot,  nor  noted  rake  : 
But  yet  would  too  much  pleasure  take: 
Though  he  ne'er  hurt  estate,  or  fame; 
Nor  brought  a  scandal  on  the  name. 

Good  books  he  prized  from  earliest  youth ; 
And  valued  men  for  worth  and  truth. 
292 


Thomas  Catesby  Paget,  Lord  Paget. 


Chitchat  he  loved ;    but  could  not  bear 
Dull  jokes,  nor  spiteful  tales,  to  hear : 
And  rather  chose  to  spend  the  day- 
Alone,  in  his  amusing  way, 
Than  barter  time,  and  health,  and  quiet, 
For  idle  news,  and  noisy  riot. 

He  could  not  fawn  on  fools  and  knaves ; 
Nor  live  with  sycophants  and  slaves  : 
But  still  preferred  the  lone  retreat 
To  being,  that  way,  rich  and  great 


Say  !      What  became  of  this  odd  creatiire. 
So  out  of  fashion,  out  of  Nature  f 


Luck  he  had  little  ;    favour,  less  : 
Nor  did  much  worldly  means  possess ; 
Though  born  to  Title  and  estate. 
So  whimsically  odd  his  fate ! 
Yet  he,  with  joy.  gave  all  he  could 
To  do  his  needy  neighbours  good. 
To  studious  ease  was  much  inclined; 
And  blessed  with  a  contented  mind. 
Obscure,  a  peaceful  life  he  led  ; 
Nor  envied  those,  who  better  sped. 


293 


Robert  Dodsley. 


THE  PETITION. 

The  various  Suppliants  which  address 

Their  prayers  to  Heaven  on  bended  knees, 
All  hope  alike  for  happiness ; 
Yet  each  petition  disagrees ! 
Fancy,  not  Judgement,  constitutes  their  bliss! 
The  wise,  no  doubt,  will  say  the  same  of  this! 

*  Ye  Gods  !    if  you  remember  right, 

Some  eighteen  years  ago, 
A  Form  was  made  divinely  bright; 

And  sent  for  us  t'  admire  below. 
I  first  distinguished  her  from  all  the  rest; 
And  hope  you'll  therefore  think  my  title  best ! 

'  I  ask  not  heaps  of  shining  gold  ! 

No !    If  the  Gods  vouchsafe 
My  longing  arms  may  her  infold  ; 
I'm  rich,  I'm  rich  enough ! 
Riches,  at  best,  can  hardly  give  content; 
But  having  her.  What  is  there   I   can  want? 

•  I  ask  not,  with  a  pompous  Train 

Of  honours,  all  th'  World  t'  outbrave. 
The  title  I  would  wish  to  gain 
Is  "her  most  fav'rite  slave!" 
To  bow  to  her,  a  greater  bliss  would  be 
Than   Kings  and   Princes  bowing  down  to  me ! 
294 


Robert  Dodsley. 


'  To  rule  the  World  with  power  supreme, 

Let  meaner  souls  aspire  ! 
To  gain  the  sov'reignty  from  them, 
I  stoop  not  to  desire  ! 
Give  me  to  reign  sole  Monarch  in  her  breast ; 
Let  petty  Princes  for  the  World  contest! 

*  Let  libertines,  who  take  delight 

In  riot  and  excess, 
Thus  waste  the  day,  thus  spend  the  night ; 
While  I,  to  joys  sublimer  press  ! 
Clasped  in  her  snowy  arms,  such  bliss  I'd  prove 
As  never  yet  was  found,  or  felt,  in  love ! 

*  In  short,  I  ask  you,  not  to  live 

A  tedious  length  of  days  ! 
Old  age  can  little  pleasure  give. 

When  health  and  strength  decays ! 
Let  but  what  time  I  have,  be  spent  with  hers ; 
Each  moment  will  be  worth  a  thousand  years ! ' 


Man  's  a  poor  deluded  Bubble, 

Wand'ring  in  a  mist  of  lies ; 
Seeing  false,  or  seeing  double. 

Who  would  trust  to  such  weak  eyes  ? 
Yet  presuming  on  his  senses, 

On  he  goes,  most  wondrous  wise ! 
Doubts  of  truth  !   believes  pretences ! 

Lost  in  error  lives,  and  dies ! 

295 


Robert  Dodsley. 


THE  ADVICE. 

Dost  thou,  my  friend !    desire  to  rise 
To  Honour,  Wealth,  and  Dignities  ? 
Virtue's  paths,  though  trod  by  few, 
With  constant  steps  do  thou  pursue ! 

For  as  the  coward  soul  admires 
That  courage  which  the  Brave  inspires; 
And,  his  own  quarrels  to  defend, 
Gladly  makes  such  a  one  his  friend : 
So  in  a  World  which  Rogues  infest, 
How  is  an  Honest  Man  carest ! 
The  villains  from  each  other  fly ; 
And  on  his  virtue  safe  rely ! 


296 


Robert  Dodsley. 


How  happy  a  state  does  the  Miller  possess  ! 
Who  would  be  no  greater  ;    nor  fears  to  be  less ! 
On  his  Mill  and  himself,  he  depends  for  support ; 
Which  is  better  than  servilely  cringing  at  Court ! 

What  though  he  all  dusty  and  whitened  does  go  ; 
The  more  he  's  bepowdered,  the  more  like  a  Beau ! 
A  Clown  in  this  dress  may  be  honester  far 
Than  a  Courtier  who  struts  in  his  Garter  and  Star! 

Though   his   hands  are  so  daubed  they're  not  fit  to 

be  seen ; 
The  hands  of  his  betters  are  not  very  clean ! 
A  palm  more  polite  may  as  dirtily  deal  ; 
Gold,  in  handling,  will  stick  to  the  fingers  like  meal ! 

What  if,  when  a  pudding  for  dinner  he  lacks, 
He  cribs,  without  scruple,  from  other  men's  sacks  : 
In  this,  of  right  noble  examples  he  brags  ; 
Who  borrow  as  freely  from  other  men's  bags ! 

Or  should  he  endeavour  to  heap  an  estate  ; 
In  this  he  would  mimic  the  tools  of  the  State ! 
Whose  aim  is  alone  their  own  coffers  to  fill ; 
As  all  his  concern  's  to  bring  grist  to  his  mill. 

He  eats  when  he  's  hungry;  he  drinks  when  he  's  dry; 
And  down,  when  he  's  weary,  contented  does  lie : 
Then  rises  up  cheerful  to  work  and  to  sing. 
If  so  happy  a  Miller ;    then  who'd  be  a  King  ? 

297 


Anonymous. 


Why,  Celta  !    should  you  so  much  strive, 
Your  kindling  Passion  to  conceal  ? 

Your  lips,  though  they  denial  give  ; 
Yet  all  your  actions,  love  reveal ! 


In  vain  you  strive,  in  vain,  alas ! 

The  charming  Passion  to  disguise  ! 
It  glows,  it  blushes,  on  your  face ; 

And  sparkles  in  your  swimming  eyes 


Your  eyes,  those  emblems  of  the  heart, 
Still  contradict  whate'er  you  say  : 

And  though  your  Hps  deny  the  smart; 
Your  eyes  are  more  believed  than  they 


*  Tell  me,  Eunesia  !   prithee,  tell ! 
(For  thou,   I  fancy,  know'st  me  well !) 
Tell  me.  Why  I,  who  was  so  gay 
(I  laughed,   I  revelled,  all  the  day !), 
Who  life  enjoyed,  and  feared  not  Fate, 
Why  am  I  altered  thus  of  late  ? 

2q8 


Anonymous. 


Tasteless  are  grown  my  former  joys ! 
Wit  is  but  folly ;    Music,  noise ! 
So  unattentive  is  my  mind, 
In  crowds  a  solitude  I  find ! 
While  all  my  friends  are  joyous  seen, 
Musing  I  sit.     'Ha!    what  ails   Ben?' 
One  cries,   '  'Tis  pride  ! ' ;    another,  *  spleen  ! ' 
Reproached  thus,   I'll  go  read  !     But  what  ? 
Shakespeare  is  lifeless !    Milton,  flat ! 

Successive  pleasures  thus  I  try, 
From  thought  to  thought  for  comfort  fly ; 
But  none  1  find !      Nothing  can  please  1 
Books  and  acquaintance  only  tease  ! 
So  restless  is  my  soul,   I  own 
Life  is  itself  a  burthen  grown  ! 
What  means  all  this  ?     Where  can  it  end  ? 
Tell  me,  my  Charmer  and  my  friend ! ' 

*  What,'  said  Eunesia,   '  what  means  this  ? 
Are  you  so  dull,  you  cannot  guess  ? 
Fly,  my  Amintor  !    to  my  arms  ! 
(Where  you've  confessed  a  thousand  charms  !) 
Fly  to  my  arms !     You'll  quickly  find 
'Tis  absence  only  stings  your  mind  ! 
Fly  to  my  arms  !     A  kiss  I'll  give 
That  shall  your  gaiety  revive  ; 
And  make  you  own,  you  wish  to  live!' 


299 


Anonymous. 


THE  MUTUAL  SYMPTOMS. 

'  Ah  !   who,  in  all  those  happy  plains, 

With  Colin  may  compare ! 
A  Youth  beloved  of  all  the  Swains; 

Admired  by  all  the  Fair. 
I   think  he  's  free  from  artful  wiles  : 

For  oft,  with  tearful  eye, 
He  fondly  looks  at  me,  and  smiles. 

He  does!     I  know  not  Why? 

'  He  pressed  my  hand.     I  blushed  and  sighed  ; 

Yet  hope  he  did  not  see ! 
And  then  to  speak  he  vainly  tried  ; 

But  gently  sighed,  like  me ! 
Methinks,  this  wary  breast  should  know 

If  Colin  feigned  the  sigh ; 
Yet  when  he  's  named,  it  flutters  so! 

It  does  !     I   know  now  Why  ? 

Say,  gentle  God  !    whose  mighty  laws 

Prevail  o'er   Nymph  and  Swain  ; 
O,  shew  my  heart  the  secret  cause 

Of  Colin's  tender  pain  ! 
Say  rather,  why  this  heart  intrcats 

The  cause  of  Colin's  woe  ! 
And  why  it  flutters  !    why  it  beats  ! 

Alas  !    too  well  I  know  ! ' 


The  End  of  The  Pope  Anthology, 
300 


FIRST   LINES  AND   NOTES. 

Many  of  these  Poems  became  immediately  popular  ;  and  appeared  in  other  contemporary 
editions  than  those  here  quoted,  often  with  great  variations  in  the  texts. 

All  the  Works  herein  quoted,  were  published  in  London  ;  unless  otherwise  stated. 
Where  a  text  is  found  associated  with  music,  (M.)  is  put  after  its  date. 


PAGE 

A  band  of  Cupids,  th'  other  day    . .     137 

Hon.  M.  Monk.     Poems,  ^c,  1716. 
A  Bard,  grown  desirous  of  saving    229 

Anon.     In  Miscellaiieotts  Poems,  ed. 

by  M.  CoNCANEN,  1724. 
A  Cobbler  there  was,  and  he  lived    222 

Anon.     In    Musical  Miscellany,   II, 

1729-     (M-) 
A  decent  mien,  an  elegance  of  dress    207 

R.  Savage.    In  Miscellaneous  Poems, 

ed.  by  him,  1726. 
A  famous  Assembly  was  132 

J.  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 
Works,  1723. 
Ah !  gaze  not  on  those  eyes ! 277 

C.  COCKBURN.     Works,  \-;s^- 
'Ah  !  who,  in  all  those  happy    300 

Anon.     In  a  Collection  of  Songs,  set 

by  Mr.  Pixell,  Birmingham  [1745]- 
Alexis  shunned  his  fellow  SwEiins     74 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
All  in  the  Downs  the  Fleet  was..  ..     160 

J.  Gay.     Poems,  1720. 
Aimenon  had  a  sort  of  merit 292 

T.  C.  Paget,  Lord  Paget.    In  his 

Miscellanies,  1741. 
Alone,  by  a  lonely  willow 273 

H.  Carey.    Poems,  3rd  Ed.,  1729. 
As,  after  noon,  one  summer's  day      79 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
As  Chloe  on  flowers  reclined  o'er  .    253 

Rev.  J.  HoADr.Y;  usually  called  Mr. 

Chancellor  HoAdly.  In  R.  Dodsley's 

Collection,  ^-c,  V,  1758. 
A  silly  Shepherd  wooed  ;  but  wist    122 

Anon.     In  J.  Dryden's   Miscellany 

Poems,  VI,  1716. 
At  night,  by  moonlight,  on  the  plain    220 

E.    Roome.      Hi.s    alteration    of    R. 

Brome's  Jovial  Crew,  1 731 . 
A  trifling  Song  you  shall  hear 64 

(i.  Farquhar.     Beaux'   Stralagem 

(1707),  in  Comedies,  1728. 
At  St.  Osyth's,  near  the  Mill  291 

SirC.  H.  Williams,  K.B.     Works, 

1822. 
A  wanton  Bee,  of  ancient  fame  —     201 

E.  Howard,   Earl  of  Suffolk.    In 

his  Miscellanies,  1725. 
Away!  Let  nought  to  Love 208 

Anon.     In  Miscellaneous  Poems,  ed. 

by  D.  Lewis,  i  726. 
A  wretch,  long  tortured  with 121 

Anon.     In  Poetical  Miscellanies,  ed. 

by  Sir  R.  Steele,  1714. 


page 

j    Behind  her  neck  her  comely   86 

I       M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
Behold,  my  friend !  the  215 

W.  SOMERVILE.     Occasional  Poems, 

f^-c,  1727. 
Belinda !  see,  from  yonder  flowers      95 

Anon.    In   The    Spectator,   No.  473, 

September  2,  1712. 
Beneath  a  myrtle's  verdant  shade      68 

M.  Prior.     Poems,  1709. 
Beneath  some  hoary  mountain 45 

Rt.    Hon.   Joseph  Addison.     Rosa- 
mond, 1707. 
Blest  as  th*  immortal  Gods  is  he  . .     105 

A.  Philips.     The  Spectator,  No.  229, 

Nov.  22,   1711.      The   text    is    that  of 

Pastorals,  ffC,  1748.     From  Sappho. 

For    Mrs.    A.    Behn's    version,    see 

Vol.  VII,  162. 
But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  ....      23 

A.  Pope.    Rape  of  the  Lock,  5th  Ed., 

1718. 


Cease,  fair  Calistris !  cease 51 

M.,  Lady  Chudleigh.     Poems,  1703. 
Cease,  fond  Shepherd  !    Cease  ....     145 

Lady    M.    W.    jNIontagu.       Works, 

1803. 
Cease  your  funning ! 171 

J.  Gay.     The  Bei^gar's  Opera,  1728. 
Cease  your  music,  gentle  Swains  !    107 

A.  Philips.    Pastorals,  f^-c,  1748. 
Celia  and  I,  the  other  day 82 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
Close  by  those  meads  for  ever  ....      16 

A.  Pope.    Rape  of  the  Lock,  ist  Ed., 

1714. 
Come,  gentle  God  of  soft  desire  !  ..    283 

J.  Thomson.    Poe7ns,  1750. 
Come,  let  us  now  resolve  at  last . .     131 

J.  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Works,  1723. 
Cupid  and  Fortune  long  agreed    ..    258 

Anon.      In    Miscellany,     ed.     by    J. 

Husbands,  0.\f.,  1731. 
Cupid  and  Venus  jointly  strove    ..    251 

W.  Popple.    \x\  Miscellaneous  Poems, 

ed.  by  R.  Savage,  1726. 
'  Cupid  !  instruct  an  am'rous 54 

W.   Walsh.    In  J.  Dryden's  Mis- 
cellany Poems,  V,  1704. 


301 


First  Lilies  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

Cursed  be  the  wretch  that 's  272 

H.  Carey.  Poems,  3rd  Ed.,  1729. 
The  last  two  lines  are  from  Mtisical 
Miscellany^  V,  1731.    (M.) 


Daphne,  the  beautiful  and  coy  ....    157 

W.    Bedingfield.      In    A.    H.    [A. 

HammondJ's  New  Miscellany,  1720. 
Daphnis  stood  pensive  in  the 164 

J.  Gay.     Poems,  1720. 
Dear  Betty  !   come,  give  me  sweet    288 

St  C.  H.  Williams,  K.B.     Works, 

1822. 
Dear  Colin  !  prevent  my  warm  .. .     142 

I.  Conway,  Countess  of  HERTFORD. 

In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  ffC-,  VI, 

17.S8. 
Dear  Doctor  of  St.  Mary's 289 

Sir  C.  H.  Williams,  K.B.     Works, 

1822. 
Dear  Gray !  that  always  in  my 286 

R.    West.      In    J.    Gray's    Poetns, 

York,  1775. 
Delia !  how  long  must  I  despair   . .     240 

G.  Granville,    Lord   Lansdowne. 

Works,  1732. 
Despairing.beside  a  clear  stream. .     125 

N.    RovvE,    P.L.       Poetical    Works, 

2nd  Ed.,  1720. 
Did  ever  Swain,  a  Nymph  adore  . .    242 

C.    Hamilton,    Lord    Binning.     In 

Gentleman's   Magazine   for    March, 

1741. 
'Did  our  sighing  Lovers  know  ....     220 

E.    RooME.      His    alteration    of    R. 

^iROyi^'s  Jovial  Crew,  1731. 
Disarmed  with  so  genteel  an  Air. .     109 

A.  Finch,  Countess  of  Winchilsea. 

In  P.  Bayle's  Dictionary,  X,  1741. 
Distracted  with  care 52 

W.  Walsh.     In  J.   Dryden's    Mis- 
cellany Poems,  V,  1704. 
Dost  thou,  my  friend !  desire  to  rise    296 

R.  DODSLEY.     Trifles,  1745. 


Every  man  take  his  Glass  in  his  . .    228 

Anon.    In  Musical  Miscellany,  III, 
1730.    (M.) 


Fair  Amoret  is  gone  astray !  60 

W.  Congreve.     Works,  1710. 
Fair  Sally  loved  a  bonny  Sailor  . .     254 

Re.v.    J.    HoADLY.      In    Gentleman's 

Magazine  for  October,  1736. 


PAGE 

Fair  Venus  !  whose  delightful  ....    248 

G.    Lyttelton,    Lord   Lyttelton. 

In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  ^c,  II, 

1748. 
False  though  She  be  to  me  and. . . .      57 

W.  Congreve.     Works,  1710. 
Farewell,  my  Mistress  !  I'll  be  ....     130 

Anon.    In   J.   Dryden's  Miscellany 

Poetns,  VI,  1 716. 
'  Fire,  Water,  Woman,  are  Man's..       75 

M.  Prior.     Poems,  1709. 
Florella!  when  those  eyes  I  see   ..      96 

W.  Harrison.     In  J.  Nichol's  Select 

Collectiott,  ^c,  1782. 
Fly  from  false  Man  !  Dorinda,  fly !    149 

Anon.    In   G.    Vanbrughe's   Mirth 

and  Harmony  [1720].     (M.) 
'  Foolish  Love  !  begone!'  said  I..     239 

G.    Granville,    Lord   Lansdowne. 

Works,  1732. 
For  ever,  Fortune  !  wilt  thou  prove    280 

J.  Thomson.     Poems,  1750. 
'  Frae  great  Apollo,  Poet  say 183 

A.  Ramsay.     Poems,  Edin.,  I,  1724. 
From  place  to  place  forlorn  I  go  . .      63 

Capt.  Sir  R.  Steele.    The  Conscious 

hovers,  1723. 
From  the  Court,  to  the  Cottage. . . .     276 

H.  Carey.     In  his  Musical  Century, 

1737. 
From  White's  and  Will's 108 

A.  Philips.    \n  Poetical  Miscellanies, 

ed.  by  Sir  R.  Steele,  1714. 


Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Estcourt's    ..    116 

Archdeacon  T.Parnell,D.D.  Poems, 

ed.  A.  Pope,  1722.    The  earlier  text  in 

Poetical  Miscellanies,  ed.   by  Sir  R. 

Steele,    1714,    has    the    stanza    in 

brackets. 
'Gentle  Love!  this  hour  befriend . .     128 

A.  Hill.     Works,  1753. 
Gentlest  air,  the  breath  of  Lovers  !      94 

Anon.     Poems  on  variety  of  subjects, 

1710. 
Gently,  my  Lute !  move  ev'ry    ....    214 

W.  Somervile.     Occasional  Poems, 

SfC,  1727. 
Give  me  a  Lass  with  a  lump  of 181 

A.  Ramsay.    Poems,  II,  Edin.,  1728. 

The  text  is  that  of  the  Musical  Mis- 
cellany, VI,  1731.     (M.) 
God  bless  the  King !  I  mean  the    ..     103 

J.     Byrom,     F.R.S.      Miscellaneous 

Poems,  Manchester,  1773. 
God  save  great  George  our  King!..    274 

H.  Carey. 
God  save  our  Lord  the  King   275 

H.  Carey. 
Good  Madam !  when  Ladies  are   ..    143 

Lady    M.     W.    Montagu.      In    R. 

Dousley's  Collection,  Hgc,  VI,  1758. 


302 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 


'Go,  rose,  my  Chloe's  bosom  grace  !    159 

J.  Gay.    Fable. t,  1727. 
•  Grant  me,  gentle  Love,'  said  I  —      59 

W.  CONGREVE.     Works,  1710. 


Happy  the  man !  whose  wish  and . .        2 

A.  Pope.     Odes,  in  Works,  1736. 
Hard  is  the  fate  of  him  who  loves    281 

J.  Thomson.    Poems,  1750. 
Here,  Cupid  puffed,  and  strung  his    200 

E.  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk.    In  his 

Miscellanies,  1725- 
Here  lies  the  Lyric,  who,  with  Tale    209 

Anon.     In  Miscellaneous  Poeiiis,  ed. 

by  D.  Lewis,  1726. 
Here 's  a  Health  to  the  Queen,  and      37 

Anon.       As     printed     by      Mr.     W. 

Chappell  in  liis  Popular  Music  of 

the  Olden  Time.    (M.) 
Howblyth,  ilkmorn,  wasltosee..     194 

S.  R.     In  A.  Ramsay's    Tea   Table 

Miscellany,  Edin.,  1724. 
How  brimful  of  Nothing  's  the  life    265 

Rev.  J.  Miller.    Coffee  House,  1737. 
How  firmly  fixed,  I  thought  my.. ..     226 

J.  Thurston.    Poems,  1729. 
How  happy  a  state  does  the  Miller    297 

R.   Dodsley.      The  King  and   the 

Miller  of  Mansfield,  in  Trifes,  1745. 
How  happy  could  I  be  with  either    170 

J.  Gay.     The  Beggar's  Opera,  1728. 
'  How  sweetly  smells  the  simmer  . .     182 

A.  Ramsay.    Poems  Edin.,  II,  1728. 


I  am,  in  truth,  a  Country  Youth   ..    269 
H.     Carey.      In    British    Musical 
Miscellany,\V  [August,  1735].     (M.) 

lanthe  the  lovely,  the  joy  of  her  . .  55 
).  Glanvill.  Poems,  1725.  This  is 
ithe  answering  political  Poem  to 
Dryden's  in  Vol.  VII,  20.  lANTHE 
is  Queen  Anne  ;  and  IPHIS,  Prince 
George,  her  husband. 

If  those  who  live  in  Shepherd's  —    278 
J.  Thomson  and  D.  Mallet.  Alfred, 
a  Masque,  1740.     It  is  thought  that  its 
Songs  are  by  Thomson. 

'If  thou  hadst  liberty  to  choose  ..    233 
Anon.       In    Miscellany,     ed.    by    J. 
Husbands,  Oxf.,  1731. 

If 'tis  joy  to  wound  a  Lover 45 

Rt.   Hon.   Joseph    Addison.    Rosa- 
mond, 1707. 

If  Wine  and  Music  have  the  power     80 
M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 

I  know  the  thing  that 's  most i 

A.  Pope.     Works,  1751. 


page 
'  I'll  tell  her,  the  next  time  ! '  said  I    239 
G.   Granville,    Lord    Lansdowne. 

Works,  1732. 
Hooked,  and  I  sighed,  and  I  wished      58 
W.   Congreve.      Old   Batchelor,   in 

Works,  1710. 
Hove!  but  She  alone  shall  know..      67 

P.  A.  Motteux.  In  J.  O.  [J.  Oli> 
MIXON]'s  il/z^je*'  Mercury  for  March, 
1707. 

In  Beauty,  or  Wit  15» 

A.  Pope.  In  A.  H.  [A.  HammondJs 
New  Miscellany,  1720. 

In  Church,  the  '  Prayer  Book '  and    149 
Anon.     In  Poetical  Miscellanies,  ed. 
by  Sir  R.  Steele,  1714. 

In  good  King  Charles's  golden  ....    147 
Anon.      In     British    Musical    Mis- 
cellany, 1  [January,  i734l-     (M.) 

In  Heaven,  one  holiday,  you  read  .      71 
M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 

In  London  stands  a  famous  Pile  ..    175 
E.   Ward.     Delights  of  the    Bottle, 
[Sept.]  1720. 

In  such  a  night,  when  every  louder    112 
A.  Finch,  Countess  of  Winchilsea. 
Miscellany  Poems,  1713. 

In  two  large  columns  on  thy   152 

Ladv  M.  W.  Montagu  and  J. 
Hervey,  Lord  Hervey.  The  origi- 
nal folio  issue  of  these  Verses,  f>c. 
[1733]. 

In  vain,  dear  Cloe !  you  suggest  . .    236 
Rt.  Hon.  Sir  W.  YoNGE,   Bart.     In 
Musical  Miscellany,  III,  1730.     (M.) 

In  vain,  you  boast  poetic  names  . .    109 
A.  Pope.     In  P.  Bayle's  Dictionary, 

X,  1741- 
In  vain,  you  tell  your  parting    —      70 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
I  said  to  my  heart,  between  sleeping    225 

C.  MoRDAUNT,  Earl  of  Peter- 
borough.    In    Swift    and    Pope's 

Miscellanies,  1727. 
I  slyly  stole  this  secret  Charm  —    227 

J.  Thurston.    Poems,  1729. 
'  It  always  has  been  thought 8g 

M.  Prior.     The  Cojiversation.     The 

original  folio  issue  of  1720. 
It  must  be  so  !  Plato,  thou  reason'st     48 

Rt.  Hon.  J.  Addison.    Cato,  1713. 
I  took  the  paper  in  my  trembling  . .     129 

A.Hill.     Works,  1753. 


Let  not  Love  on  me  bestow 62 

Capt.  Sir  R.  Steele.     The  Funeral, 

1702. 
Let  them  censure !  what  care  I  ?  ..      81 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
Life  is  a  jest;  and  all  things  show    166 

J.  Gay.    Poems,  1720. 


303 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

Lords,  Knights,  and  Squires,  the  . .      76 
M.    Prior.      In    J.   Dryden's    Mis- 
cellany Poems,  V,  1704. 

Love  and  Folly  were  at  play 66 

P.  A.  MOTTEUX.  In  J.  O.  [J.  Old- 
mixonJ's  Muses'  Mercury  for  April, 
1707. 

Love 's  an  idle  childish  Passion  . .     232 
H.     Baker,     F.R.S.       In     British 
Musical  Miscellany,  I  [April,    1734]. 

Love  is  a  scion  cropped  from 61 

T.  Ellwood.  In  his  Collection  of 
Poents  [1730]. 

Love,  wearied  with  his  roving 97 

Anon  In  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
Miscellany  Poems,  el.  by  E.  Fenton, 
[1709].  This  Poem  is  on  the  same 
subject  as  Prior's  at  p.  86,  published 
in  the  same  vear. 


Man  's  a  poor  deluded  Bubble    ....     295 
R   DODSLEY.     Trifles,  1745. 

Me  Cupid  made  a  happy  slava   ....       6? 
Capt.  Sir  R.  Steele.     In  J.  O.  fj. 
Oldmixon]'s    Muses'    Mercury    for 
February,  1707. 

My  days' have  been  so  wondrous    114 
Archdeacon   T.   Parnell,    D.D.     In 
Poetical  Miscellanies,   ed.  by  Sir  R. 
Steele,  1714. 

My  time,  O,  ye  Muses !  was  happily    100 
J.   Byrom,    F.R.S.      The    Spectator, 
No.  605,  October  6,  1714.     The  text  is 
from    Miscellaneous     Poems,     Man- 
chester, 1773. 


Not  with  more  glories  in  th* 10 

A.  Pope.     Rape  of  the  Lock,  ist  Ed., 

1 7 14. 
No  warning  of  th'  approaching 238 

G.  Granville,    Lord    Lansdowne. 

Works  1732. 


Of  all  the  Girls  that  are  so  smart . .    266 
H.  Carey.     Poems,  3rd  Ed.,  1729. 

Of  all  the  torments,  all  the  cares . .      52 
W.  Walsh.      In  J.  Dryden's  Mis- 
cellany Poems,  V,  1704. 

Of  Leinster,  famed  for  Maidens    ..     172 
T.  TiCKELL.     In  R.  DoDSLEY's  Col- 
lection, /<fc.,  I,  1748. 

O,  forbear  to  bid  me  slight  her!    ..     128 
A.  Hill.     Works,  1753. 


page 
Oft  hast  thou  told  me,  Dick  t  in    . .     186 

N.  Amhurst.    Poems,  1723. 

O,  grant  that  Marshal  Wade  275 

Anon. 

O,  I'll  have  a  husband !  aye    271 

H.  Carey.  In  Sir  J.  Vanbrugh  and 
C.  Gibber's  Provoked  Husband,  2nd 
Ed.,  1729. 

One  day,  the  God  of  fond  desire  . .    282 
J.  Thomson.     Poems,  1750. 

O,  nightingale  !  best  poet  of  the 282 

J.Thomson.     Poems,  it$q. 

On  Thames's  bank,  a  gentle  Youth    249 
G.  Lyttelton,    Lord    Lyttelton. 
In  R.  DoDSLEY's    Collection,  l<fC.,  II, 
1748. 

O,  ruddier  than  the  cherry ! 159 

J.  Gay.     Acis  and  Galatea,  1732. 

O,  say.  What  is  that  thing  called  . .    257 
C.  Gibber,  P.L.     \n  British  Musical 
Miscellany,  I  [March,    1734].     (M.) 

O,  the  pleasing,  pleasing  anguish. .     45 
Rt.  Hon.  Joseph    Addison.     Rosa- 
mond, 1707. 

'  O,  Venus !  Beauty  of  the  skies ! . .    104 
A.  Philips.     The  Spectator,  No.  223, 
Nov.    15,   171 1.     The  text  is   that  of 
Pastorals,  ffC,  1748.     From  Sappho. 


Persuade  me  not,  there  is  a  grace . .     1 11 

A.  Finch,  Countess  of  Winchilsea. 

Miscellany  Poems,  1713. 
Phillis  is  lively,  brisk,  and  gay 200 

E.  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk,   in  his 

Miscellanies,  1725. 
Polly  !  from  me,  though  now  a  . . . .    206 

R.  Savage.      Works,  1775. 
Pope  has  the  talent  well  to  speak . .    211 

Dean    J.    SwiFT.      Poetical    Works, 

1736. 
Prithee,  tell  me.  What  a  Beau  is  ? . .      98 

Anon.     Poetns,  ^-c,   published  by  J. 

Pemberton,  1714. 


Reading  ends  in  melancholy !    ....      85 
M.   Prior.     Miscellaneous    Works, 
1740. 


Say,  Myra !  why  is  gentle  Love   . .    246 

G.  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 
In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  cj-t.,  II, 
1748. 


First  Lmes  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

Says  my  uncle, '  I  pray  you    1 67 

J.  Gay.     In  Swift  and  Pope's  Mis- 
cellanies^ 1727. 

See  I  see,  she  wakes !  Sabina 57 

W.  CONGREVE.     Works^  1 7 10. 

She  said.    The  pitying  audience  . .      30 

A.  Pope.    Rape  of  t lie  Lock,  5th  Ed., 
1718. 

She  was  not  coy  I   218 

E.    RoOME.       His    alteration    of    R. 

H'ROVlK's  Jovial  Crew,  1731- 
Soft  kisses  may  be  innocent   277 

C.  COCKBURN.     Works,  1751. 
Stella  and  Flavia,  ev'ry  hour 221 

M..  Barber.    Poems,  1734. 
Sure,  Cloe  just,  and  Clbe  fair 78 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  Dublin,  1723. 
Sweet  are  the  charms  of  her  1  love    140 

B.  Booth.     In  Musical  Miscellany, 
II,  1729.    (M.) 


'Tell  me,  Eunesia !  prithee,  tell ! . .    298 

Anon.     In  Miscellaneous  Poetns,  ed. 

by  J.  Ralph,  1729. 
Thanks,  Chloe  !   Thy  coquetting..     285 

R.  West.    In  A.  Dalrymple's  Col- 

lection,  <^-c.,  1796. 
The  dusky  night  rides  down  the  . .     261 

H.    Fielding.      Don     Quixote    in 

England,  1734. 
•  The  heavy  hours  are  almost  past   245 

G.   Lyttelton,  Lord   Lyttelton. 

In  R.  DODSLEY's  Collection,  ^c,   II, 

1748. 
The  Lass  that  would  know  how  . .    204 

M.    Concanen.      In    Musical   Mis- 

cellanv,  I,  1729.     (M.) 
The  merciiant,  to  secure  his  80 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
The  mind  of  a  woman  can  never  . .     219 

E      RoOME.     His    alteration    of    R. 

B  R  O  M  E '  s  Jovial  Creu),  1 73 1 . 
The  minutes,  the  hours,  the  days. .    252 

Rev.  J.   HoADLV.     In  R.  Dodsley's 

Collection,  fyc.  III,  1748. 
The  Play  of  Love  is  now  begun    . .     264 

R.    LeveridgE.      In    Musical  Mis- 
cellany, II,  1729.     (M.) 
The  pride  of  ev'ry  grove  I  chose  . .      86 

M.  Prior.     Poems,  Dublin,  1723. 
There  was  an  a  May,  and  she  lo'ed    202 

Lady  G.  Baillie.    In  W.  Thomson's 

Orpheus  Caledonius  I  1725]      ^M  ) 
There  was  an  old  fellowat 219 

E.    Roome.       His    alteration    of   R. 

"Brotak's  Jovial  Crew,  1731. 
These,  equal  syllables  alone 3 

A.  Pope.     Essay  on  Criticism,  171 1. 

The  lines  within  brackets  are  from  the 

Dublin  edition  of  1717. 

BRIT.  anth.  vm. 


PAGE 

•  The  snows  are  melted,  and  the  . .     138 

L.  Welsted.      Epistles,    Odes,   ifC, 

1724. 
The  various  Suppliants  which 294 

R.  DODSLEY.     Trijles,  1745. 
The  Wanton's  charms,  however . .    284 

J.  Thomson.     Poems,  1750. 
Though  I  never  got  possession    . .     145 

Lady    M.    W.    Montagu.      Works, 

1803. 
Though  women,  'tis  true,  are  but . .     218 

li.    RoOME.      His    alteration    of    R. 

Bromb's  Jovial  Crew,  1731. 
Thou  watchful  Taper,  by  whose  . .      56 

VV.  CONGREVE.      Works,  1710. 
Thus  Kitty,  beautiful  and  young  . .      84 

M.  Prior.     Poems,  Dublin,  1723. 
Thus  to  a  ripe,  consenting  Maid  ..      56 

W.    CONGREVE.     Old    Batchelor,    in 

Vi/'orks,  1710. 
Thyrsis,  a  young  and  am'rous 119 

Archdeacon  T.  Parnell,  D.D.  Poems, 

ed.  A.  Pope,  1-22. 
To  ease  my  troubled  mind  of 247 

G.  Lyttelton,   Lord   Lyttelton. 

In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  <5c.,  II, 

1748. 
To  him  who  in  an  hour  must  die  . .    247 

G.    Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton. 

In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  <5c,  II, 

1748. 
To  keep  thy  saul  frae  puny  strife . .     185 

A.  Ramsay.    Poems,  Edin.,  I,  1724. 
To  stifle  Passion  is  no  easy  thing !    120 

Archdeacon   T.   Parnell,    D.D.     In 

J.  Nichol's  Select  Collection,  ^c,  III, 

1780. 
To  wake  the  soul,  by  tender   46 

A.  Pope.     In  Rt.  Hon.  J.  Addison's 

Caio,  1 7 13. 
'Twas  when  the  seas  were  roaring    162 

J.  Gay.    T/ie  What  d' yecall  it\^-]\s), 

in  Poems,  1720. 


Unless  with  my  Amanda  blest  ....    278 

J.Thomson.    Poems,  ij^o. 


Vital  spark  of  heav'nly  flame    —      36 
A.  Pope.     Odes,  in  Works,  1736. 


Warned,  and  made  wise  by  others'    23S 

G.  Granville,   Lord  Lansdowne. 
Works,  1732. 
Well!  if  ever  I  saw  such  another..    212 
Dean  J.    SwiFT.     Poetical    Works, 
J736- 


First  Lines  and  Notes. 


PAGE 

What  dire  offence,  from  am'rous . .       4 

A.  Pope.     The  first  Three  Cantos  of 

The  Rape  of  the  Lock  are  from  the 

1st  Ed.  of  1 714  ;    the  last  Two,  from 

the  5th  Ed.  of  1718. 
What  man,  in  his  wits,  had  not 199 

Rev.    S.     Wesley.      Miscellaneous 

Poems,  ed.  by  D.  Lewis,  1726. 
What  Nymph  should  I  admire,  or . .       78 

M.  Prior.     Poems,  Dublin,  1723. 
What !  put  off  witii  one  denial ! . . . .      93 

J.  Philips.     Cider,  <^c.,  1708. 
What  though  I  am  a  London 223 

Anon.       In    British    Musical    Mis- 
cellany [iAasch,  ij^^].     (M.) 
What  though  they  call  me  Country    270 

H.Carey.    In  Sir  J.  Vanbrugh  and 

C.  Cibber's  Provoked  Husband,  2nd 

Ed.,  1729. 
What  Woman  could  do,  I  have    . .     256 

C.  ClBBER,  P.L.     Love  in  a  Riddle, 

1719. 
When  all  was  wrapped  in  dark    . .    178 

Anon.    [?Edin.,  ?  172^.]    D.  Mallet 

touched   up  this   '  old    Ballad  ' ;    and 

passed  it  off  as  his  own. 
When  Britain  first,  at  Heaven's    . .    279 

J.  Thomson  and  D.  Mallet.  Alfred, 

a    Masque.     It    is   thought    that    its 

Songs  are  by  Thomson. 
When  Daphne  first  her  Shepherd..      50 

M.,  Lady  Chudleigh.     Poems,  1703. 
When  Delia  on  the  plain  appears^    244 

G.  Lyttelton,    Lord  Lyttelton. 

In  R.  Dodsley's   Collection,  %c.,  II, 

1748. 
When  I  think  on  your  truth ;  I 250 

G.    Lyttelton,    Lord    Lyttelton. 

In  R.  Dodsley's  Collection,  ^c,  II, 

1748. 
When  mighty  Roast  Beef  was  the .    262 

H.    Fielding.      Don     Quixote     in 

England,  1734. — R.  Leveridge.     In 

British     Musical     Miscellany,     III 

[May,  1735].    iM.) 
'  When  Slaves  their  liberty  require     54 

W.  Walsh.     In  The  Grove,  1721. 
'When  thy  beauty  appears 115 

Archdeacon  T.  Parnell,D.D.  Poems, 

ed.  by  A.  PoPE,  1722. 
When  you  censure  the  Age 171 

J.  Gay.     The  Beggar'' s  Opera,  1728. 
While  at  my  house  in  Fleet  street    124 

N.  Rowe,  P.L.    Poetical  Works,  2nd 

Ed.,  1720. 
While  Butler,  needy  wretch !   was    209 

Anon.     In  Miscellaneotts  Poetns,  ed. 

by  D.  Lewis,  1726. 
While  from  our  looks,  fair  Nymph !      77 

M.  Prior.    Poems,  1709. 
While  gentle  Parthenissa  walks  . .      62 

Capt.     Sir     R.     Steele.       Tender 

Husband,  1717. 


page 

While  you,  my  Lord  !  the  rural  —      38 
Rt.   Hon.  J.  Addison.     In  J.  Dry- 
den's  Miscellajiy  Poetns,  V,  1704. 

Why  are  those  charms  by  frowns    205 
M.    Concanen.       In     Miscellaneous 
Poems,  ed.  by  R.  SAVAGE,  1726. 

Why,  Celia  !    should  you  so  much    298 
Anon.    In  Miscellatieous  Poems,  ed. 
by  J.  Ralph,  1729. 

Why,  Damon!    why,  why,  why  so      50 
M.,  Lady  Chudleigh.     Poems,  1703. 

Why,  lovely  Charmer !  tell  me  —      62 
Capt.     Sir     R.      STEELE.       Tender 
Husband,  1717. 

Why  should  a  heart  so  tender  —    241 
G.  GiMNViLLE,   Lord   Lansdowne. 
Works,  1732. 
Why  should  those  eyes,  Florella !    251 
W.  Popple.   In  Miscellaneous  Poems, 
ed.  by  R.  Savage,  1726. 

Why  we  love,  and  why  we  hate   ..    106 
A.Philips.    Pastorals,  isc-,\t\\. 

Why  will  Delia  thus  retire 144 

Lady    M.     W.    Montagu.      In    R. 
Dodsley's  Collection,  ^-c,  I,  1755. 

With  an  honest  old  friend,  and 268 

H.  Carey.    Poems,  3rd  Ed.,  1729. 

With  downcast  eyes  and  folded  . .    23 1 
H.  Baker,  F.R.S.     In  Musical  Mis- 
cellany, III,  1730.     (M.) 

With  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me !     58 
W.  Congreve.     Semele,  an  Opera,  in 
Works,  1 710. 

'  Woman !  thoughtless,  giddy 230 

H.  Baker,  F.R.S.     In  Mtisical  Mis- 
cellany, IV,  1730.    (M.) 


Ye  Poets  ragged  and  forlorn 210 

Dean    J.    SwiFT.      Poetical    Works, 

1736. 
'Ye  Shepherds  and  Nymphs,  that    198 

W.  Hamilton,  of  Bangour.    Poeins, 

1760. 
'Ye  Shepherds  of  this  pleasant.. ..    196 

W.  Hamilton,  of  Bangour.    Poems, 

1760. 
You  ask,  my  friend  !  How  I  can  . .     136 

Rev.   L.   EuSDEN,   PL.      In   Poetical 

Miscellanies,  ed.  by  Sir  R.  Steele, 

1714. 
You  little  know  the  heart,  that  you    146 

Lady    M.    W.    Montagu.       Works, 

1803. 
'Young  Strephon,  by  his  folded    . .    156 

W.    Bedingfield.      In    A.    H.    [A. 

Hammond]'s  Nezu  Miscellany,  1721). 
Youth  's  the  season  made  for  joys  !    170 

J.  Gay.     The  Beggar's  Opera,  1728. 


306 


GLOSSARY  AND   INDEX. 


A',  183,  194,  all. 

Abigails  (M.  Prior),  84, 
ladies'  maids. 

Aboon,  184,  above. 

The  Act  Tune,  264,  the  Over- 
ture. 

Addison,  Rt.  Hon.  J„  38-45, 
48,  49,  134. 

Afifectation  (A.  Pope),  24. 

Africa,  19,  161. 

Agamemnon,  33. 

Ain,  182,  own. 

Air,  14,  62,  63,  manner,  bear- 
ing;, appearance. 

Ajax  (A.  Pope),  3. 

Hoary  Albula,  39,  a  stream 
flowing  from  the  sulphureous 
Lake  Albunea  into  the  Anio, 
and  thence  into  the  Tiber. 
The  latter  also  was  anciently 
called  Albula. 

Alcander  (W.  Walsh),  54. 

Alexandrine,  3,  a  line  of 
verse  of  twelve  syllables. 

Alexis  (M.  Prior),  74,  75. 

Almenon  (T.  C.  Paget,  Lord 
Paget),  292,  293. 

Amanda  (J.  Thomson),  278, 
283. 

Amaryllis  (J.  Gay),  169. 

Amhurst,  N.,  186-193. 

Amintor  (Anon.),  298,  299. 

Amintor  iW.  Popple),  2s;i. 

Amintor  (L.  Welsted),"  138, 

.  139- 

Amoret  (W.  Congreve),  60. 
Amoret  (J.  Thurston),  227. 
An  Amphitheatre,    41,   the 

Coliseum  at  Rome. 
Amynta  (W.  Congreve),  59. 
Amynta  (W.  Somervile),  215. 
An,  202,  once. 
Animated  rocks  to  live,  43, 

sculpture. 
Anna,  30. 

Great  Anna !  1 6,  Queen  Anne. 
Anne,  Queen,  16,  148. 
Appose,  202,  suppose. 
Arabia,  9. 
Ardelia  |  =  the  poetical  name 

of   A.   Finch,    Countess    of 

Winchelsea],  109. 
Ariel,  a  Sylph,  see  Machines, 

5-8,  12-15,  17.  21,  23. 


Ariosto,  34. 

Atalantis,  22,  a  satirical  Ro- 
mance by  Mrs.  M.  Manley. 

Atterbury,  Bishop  of 
Rochester;  F.,  134. 

Asia,  19. 

Greater  Assembly,  134,  the 
House  of  Commons. 

Ay  {Scotch),  185,  ever. 


Looking  babies,  99,  the  small 
image  of  oneself,  reflected  in 
the  pupil  of  another's  eye. 

Save  his  bacon,  91,  to  save 
himself  from  harm. 

Bailhe,  Lady  G.,  202,  203. 

Baith,  183,  202,  both. 

Baja  [=  Baise],  40. 

Baker,  F.R.S. ;  H.,  230-232. 

Bangs  me,  266,  beats  me. 

Bannock,  184,  bread,  made 
in  a  round  and  flat  shape. 

Barber,  M.,  221. 

The  Baron  [=  Lord  Petre], 
a  little  man,  5,  (A.  Pope),  4, 
11,18,19,  20  22,  28,  30,33,34. 

Bartlemew  Fair,  132,  held 
in  Smithfield  on  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's Day,  August  24. 

Beau  (Anon.),  98,  99. 

Bedingfield,  W.,  156-158. 

Belinda  (Anon.),  95. 

Belinda  (Anon.\  149. 

Belinda  [=  Miss  A.  FermorJ 
(A.  Pope),  4-35. 

Belinda  (j .  Thurston),  226. 

Belvidera  (J.Thurston),  227. 

On  the  bent,  184,  the  grass. 

Berenice,  35. 

Bergavenny,  280,  Aberga- 
venny, Monmouthshire. 

Berries  crackle,  20,  the  coffee 
berries,  as  they  were  roasted. 

Betty  r  =  Belinda's  lady's- 
maid]  (A.  Pope),  q. 

Betty  [=  Lady  E.  Ikhester], 
288,  289. 

Bevil  (H.  Baker,  F.R.S.),  230. 

Corn  bing,  203,  a  place  for 
storing  corn. 

Birt,  Rev.  — ,  289,  290. 

Birth-night  Beau,  5,  one 
elegantly    dressed    for    the  I 

X  2 


Court    Ball     given     on     a 

royal  Birthday. 
Exploded  Bite,   272,  a  hoax, 

a  swindle. 
A  Black  Coat, 65,  theClergy. 
A  blackguard  boy,  72,  a  boy 

carrying  a  link,  or  torch. 
Blackmore,  Sir  R.,  132. 
Pushing  Blades,  177,  free  and 

easy  fellows,  gallants. 
Blate,  183,  bashful,  diffident. 
The  Blind  Boy  (C.  Gibber, 

P.L.),  257. 
A  purer  blush,  9,  by  the  use 

of  rouge. 
Blyth,  194,  blithe. 
Bohea,  29,  a  kind  of  tea. 
Boileau-Despreaux,  N.,  4. 
To  boot,  65,  into  the  bargain. 
Booth,  B.,  140,  141. 
Painted  Bo'w,  13,  the  rainbow. 
Thou  bows,  183,  bowest. 
Bows  his  eye,  203,  shuts  it. 
Bow^  street,  London,  12s. 
The  Box,  6,  at  the  theatre. 
The  Boyne,  40,  in  Ireland. 
Bra,  202,  brave,  fine. 
Braes,  184,  banks. 
Braided    colours   gay,    139, 

embroidered. 
Bray,  147-149,  in  Berkshire. 
Breathing  rocks,  41,  sculp- 
tures. 
Brillante,aSylph(A.Pope),  14. 
Brimmers,  116,  cups  full  to 

the  brim. 
Britain,  40,  44,  279. 
Britannia,  43,  109,  279. 
Britons,  272. 
Brown,      Sir     G.     [=  Sir 

Plume]  (A.  Pope),  27,  28,  32. 
A  brushing  fox,   261,  a  fox 

having  a  bushy  tail,  or  brush. 
A  Bubble,  73,  295,  a  dupe, 

a  gull. 
Bubbles,  176,  mad   specula- 
tions. 
Budgell,  E.,  134. 
Bum,  183,  stream. 
Busk,   12,    a  strong   piece  of 
wood  or  whalebone  m  front 
of  a  corset,  to  stiffen  it. 
Butler,  S.,  208. 
Byrom,  F.R.S. ;  J.,  100-103. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Caesar,  C.  J.>47,  49. 

Cain,  155. 

Calistris    (M.,   Lady  Chud- 

leigh),  51. 
Camilla  (A.  Pope),  3. 
Camilla,  32,  an  Opera. 
Carey,  H.,  266-276. 
Carries  me  to  Church,  267, 

compels     me     to    go    with 

him. 
Carse  o'  Gowrie,  183,  on  the 

river  Tay,  in  Scotland. 
Caryl,  J.  E.,  4- 
I  turned  the  cat  in  pan,  148, 

to  make  a  right-about  turn, 

to  change  sides. 
Cato,  Uticensis;  C.  P.,  46- 

49 
Celia  (Anon.),  298. 
Celia(H.  Baker,  F.R.S.),  230. 
Celia  (H.  Carey),  273. 
Celia  (M.  Prior),  82.  83. 
A   Chair,   6,  a  Sedan   Chair 

carried  by  two  Pages. 
Charles  II,  King,  147. 
Chear'd,  194,  cheered. 
China's    earth,    20,    china 

coffee-cups. 
Chit,  200,  child. 
Chloe(,H.  Baker,  F.R.S.),232. 
Chloe  (J.  Gay),  159,  164-166. 
Chloe     (Rev.     J.     Hoadly), 

252,  253. 
Chloe  (J.  Thurston),  226,  227. 
Chloe  iR.  West ,  28s.  2S6. 
Chloe  (Rt.  Hon.  Sir  W.Yonge, 

Bart.),  236,  237. 
Chloris    (Rev.    L.     Eusden, 

P.L.),  136. 
Chloris  (Archdeacon  T.  Par- 

nell,  D  D.>,  120. 
Christy   (A.    Ramsay),    182, 

1% 
Chudleigh ;  M.,  Lady,  50, 51. 
Cibber,  P.L. ;   C,   132,  256, 

2=i7- 

Cicero,  M.  T.,  92. 

Circled  Green,  5,  a  fairy  ring. 

Hyde  Park    Circus,    37 — see 

Ring. 
Cit,  204,  a  citizen  of  London. 
Clara  (M.  Prior  ,  75. 
Clarissa  (A.  Pope),  4,  21,  30, 

3'.  32- 
Clarke,  D.D. ;  Rev.  S.,  90. 
Smooth     Clitumnus,    39,    a 

branch  of  the  Topino. 
Cloe  (Hon.  M.  Monk),   137. 
Cloe  [  =  H.  Howard,  Countess 

of   Suffolk]    (C.   Mordaunt, 

Earl  of  Peterborough),  225. 

See  also  p.  1. 
Cloe  (M.  Prior),  68-70,  73,  78, 


79,  80,  81,  86288. 
!;io: 


Clorinda  (M.  Prior),  74,  75. 
Clown,  126,  204,  291,  a  rustic. 
Coach  and  Six,  22,  horses. 


Cob,  125,  a  nickname  of 
J.  Tonson. 

Cockburn,  C,  277. 

Codille,  19,  when  the  Challen- 
ger at  Ombre  loses  the  game. 

CoeUa  (W.  Congreve),  58,  59. 

Ccelia  (C.  Mordaunt,  Earl  of 
Peterborough),  225. 

Ccelia  fArchdeacon  T.  Par- 
nell,  D.D.),  119. 

Cog,  168,  cheat. 

Colin  (Anon  ),  300. 

Colin  [the  poetical  name  of 
J.  Byrom,  F.R.S.l,  100-103. 

Colin  r?  =  Lord  W.  Hamil- 
ton] (?I.  Conway,  Countess 
of  Hertford),  142. 

Colin  (Rev.  J.  Hoadly),  253. 

Colin  [=  the  poetical  name  of 
N.  Rowe,  P.L.],  125-127. 

Colin  (T.  Tickell),  172-174. 

Come-rogues,  213,  fellow 
rogues. 

Coming,  271,  eager,  forward, 
pushing. 

Concanen,  M.,  204,  205. 

Was  ever  concerned,  213, 
intoxicated,  worse  for  liquor. 

The  nice  conduct  of  a 
clouded  cane,  28,  the  ele- 
gant handling  of  a  Malacca 
cane. 

Congreve,  W.,  56-60,  124, 
125,  133. 

Coriway,Countess  of  Hert- 
ford ;  I.,  142. 

Cowdenknows,  194,  at 
Earlston,  Berwickshire. 

Crispissa,  a  Sylph  (A.  Pope), 
14. 

Cryes,  202,  cries. 

Curll,  the  Publisher  ;  E.,  132, 
210. 

Cynthia  (Rev.  L.  Eusden, 
P.L.),  136. 

Cynthia  (A.  Pope),  23. 


Daffs,  201,  daffodils. 
Damon  (H.  Baker,   F.R.S.), 

232. 
Damon  (H.  Carey),  273. 
Damon  (M.,  Lady  Chudleigh), 

Damon  (Lady  M.  W.  Mon- 
tagu), 144,  145- 
Damon  (A.  Pope),  8 
Damon  iM.  Prior),  86-92. 
Damon    (J.  Thomson),    282, 

Damon  (W.  Walsh),  52,  53. 
Danae,  71. 

The  Dane,  44,  Denmark. 
The  Danube,  40. 
Daphne,  157,  158. 


Daphne  (M.,  Lady  Chud- 
leigh), 50,  51. 

Daphnis  (J.  Gay),  164-166. 

Dapperwit  (A.  Pope),  32. 

Dapperwit  i,M.  Concanen), 
204. 

Date,  22,  limit,  termination. 

Da'wrted,  184.  favoured. 

Dead  men,  37.  empty  bottles 

Declaration  for  Liberty  of 
Conscience,  issued  by  James 
II  in  1687,  and  again  in 
1688,  147. 

Delany.  D.D. ;  P.,  229. 

Delavall,  Admiral,  125. 

Delia  (W.  Congreve).  56,  ';7- 

Delia  (Rev.  L.  Eusden,  P.L.), 
136. 

Delia  (J.  Gay),  166. 

Delia  (G.  Granville,  Lord 
Lansdowne),  240,  241. 

Delia  [  =  Miss  Greville,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Boughton]  (G. 
Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton), 
244-246. 

Delia  f  =  Lady  Irwin]  (Lady 
M.  W.  Montagu),  144,  145. 

Delia  (A.  Philips),  107,  108. 

Delia  (J.  Thurston),  227. 

Delville,  229,  near  Duulio. 

Denham,  Sir  J.,  3. 

Dennis,  J.,  133. 

Dick  (N.  Amhurst),  186-193. 

Dido,  30. 

Discharge  your  quairters, 
99,  pay  your  rent. 

Ran  a  new  division,  91, 
spoke  upon  another  subject 

He  do,  202,  to  do. 

Dodsley,  R.,  294-297. 

Dollor,  202,  dolour. 

Dorinda  (Anon.),  148. 

Doughtna,  183,  could  not. 

A'  he  dow  do,  203,  does  do. 

Downright  Dunstable  was 
I  !  91,  I  used  plain  straight- 
forward speech. 

The  Downs,  160,  at  Deal. 

Drap,  182,  drop. 

Thro'  the  drawf,  203,  on 
draught. 

Drawing  Room,  169,  the 
roval  receptions  for  Ladies. 

Drolled,  117,  jested,  made  fun 
of. 

The  Drops,  14,  earrings. 

DrusiUa  (E.  Howard,  Earl  of 
Suffolk),  200. 

D'Urfey,  T.,  132,  209. 

Dwalm,  202,  swoon. 

D'ye,  92,  do  ye. 

Dye,  202,  die. 


Edie  [=  Edward],  182,  183. 
Een,  182,  eyes. 


308 


Glossary  and  Index. 


E'er,  5,  &c.,  ever. 

Eliza  (Anon.),  235. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  263. 

Ellwood,  T.,  61. 

Elves,  5,  13,  fairies. 

Eridanus  [=  the  Po],  39. 

Estcourt,  R.,  116.  The  scene 
of  this  Song  is  laid  in  the 
Bumper  Tavern,  in  James 
Street,  Covent  Garden, 
London  ;  and  in  1712. 

EupheUa  1  M.  Prior),  80. 

Eusden,  P.L.;  Rev.  L.,  135, 
136. 

Eve,  154. 

Evening  Post,  qo,  a  London 
newspaper. 

Ev'n,  4,  5,  &c.,  even. 

Ev'ry,  13,  60,  &c.,  every. 

Ews,  134,  ewes. 

Exchange    Alley,  London, 

175- 
Expletives,  3,  empty  words 

expanding  sentences  without 

adding  to  the  sense. 
Eunesia  (Anon.),  298,  299. 


Faithfu',  19c,  faithful. 
Farquhar,  6.,  64,  65. 
Faustina,  224. 
Fenton,  E.,  134. 
Fermor,  Miss  A.,  4-35. 
Fielding,  H.,  261,  262. 
Fields    of   Death,    43,    the 

battle-fields. 
Finch,  Countess  of  Win- 

chilsea;  A.,  4,  109-113. 
Project  of  Fish,  133,  Steele's 

scheme  for  bringing  fish  alive 

to  London  in  tanks  on  board 

fishing-boats. 
Flatman,  T.,  36. 
Flavia  (M.  Barber),  221. 
Flavia  (A.  Pope),  12. 
Fleet  street,  London,  124. 
Flora  (W.  Bedingfield),  156, 

157. 
Florella  (W.  Harrison),  96. 
Florella(W.  Poppk),  2=;i. 
Florinda  (H.  Baker,  F.R.S.), 

231. 
Florio  (A.  Pope),  8. 
On  a  foot,  65,  on  the  same 

level. 
Sir  Fopling  (A.  Pope),  32. 
Fortescue,  afterwards  Lady 

Lansdowne;  L.,  247-250. 
Frae,  183-185,  from. 
France,  262. 
Furbelow,  14,  a  flounce. 


Gaes    drooping,    203,    goes 
about  dejected,  pining  away. 


Galileo,  35. 

Gang,  181"  go. 

Ganymede,  71-73. 

Garters,  Stars,  7,  124,  175, 
297,  the  insignia  of  the  Orders 
of  the  Garter,  the  Bath,  S:c. 

Gang  any  gate  it  will  hing, 
203,  go  anyway  it  will  hang. 

The  Gaul,  44,  France. 

Gay,  J.,  134,  159-171. 

Gentily,  184,  gently. 

George  I,  King,  148,  149. 

George  II,  King,  274,  275. 

Gildon,  C,  133. 

Glanvill,  J.,  55. 

Glass,  116,  118,  273,  &c.,  a 
drinking  glass. 

Glass,  9,  83  144,  &c.,  a  look- 
ing-glass. 

Glut,  205,  satisfy. 

Gold  Keys  in  Waiting,  64,  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  &c. 

Gnomes,  see  Machines,  6,7, 
23-26,  28,  32,  33. 

Grain'd,  202,  groaned. 

The  Grampians,  183. 

Granville,  Lord  Lans- 
downe; G.,  133,  238-241. 

Gray,  T.,  286,  287. 

Grub  street,  London.  210. 


Cantily  had  up  my  crest, 

185,  jauntily,  cneerfuUy  hold 

up  my  head. 
Hadrian,  the  Emperor,  36. 
Hae,  183,  have. 
Hamilton,  Lord  Binning; 

C,  242,  243. 
Hamilton,  W.,  196-198. 
Hampton    Court   Palace, 

16,  19,  27,  29. 
Hanbury,  Miss  H.,  289,  290. 
Harrison,  V/.,  96. 
Were  ne  my  heart  's  light, 

I  wad  dye  !  202,  203,  Were 

it  not  that  iny  heart  is  brave, 

I  would  die ! 
The  Hebrus,  no,  a  river  in 

Thrace. 
He'd,  222,  he  would. 
Heezethee,  185,  raise  thyself. 
Heir,  99,  heiress. 
He'll,  51,  he  will. 
Heroi-comical      Poem,      4, 

mock-heroic. 
Hervey,  Lord  Hervey ;  J., 

Hill,  A.,  128,  129. 
Hoadly  [usually   called  Mr. 
Chancellor  Hoadly],  Rev. 

J-.  252-255- 

Hogan  and  Nog,  169,  prob- 
ably Brewers  about  1727. 

Homer,  25,  28,  32,  33,  117. 

My  Honey !  267,  sweet  one  ! 

Horace,  2, 152,  183. 


Howard,  Countess  of  Suf- 
folk; H^I,225 

Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk  ; 

E.,  200,  201. 
Howard,Mrs.— seeHoward, 

Countess  of  Suffolk;  H. 
Hughes,  J.,  134. 
To  hund  the  Tykes,  203, 

hound  the  dogs. 
Hybla,  201. 

lanthe  [=  Queen  Anne]  (J. 

Glanvill),  55. 
I'd,  268,  270,  271,  &c.,  I  would. 
Ilchester,  LadyE.,  288,  289. 
Ilchester ;  S.,  Lord,  288, 289. 
Ilk.  184,  194,  each. 
I'll,  52,  57,  67,  &c.,  I  will. 
Ill  Nature  (A.  Pope),  24. 
I'm,  57,  1  am. 
A  heavenly  image,  9,  that  of 

Belinda  herself. 
India,  9,  161. 
Iphis[=  George  of  Denmark, 

Prince    Consort    of    Queen 

Anne]  (J.  Glanvill),  55. 
Lady  Irwin,  144. 
Italy,  38-44,  262. 
Ixion,  15. 


James  II,  King,  147. 

Altars  of  Japan,  20,  Japanese 

lacquered  ware. 
Lady  Jenny  (M.  Prior),  84, 85. 
Johnny  (Lady  G.  Baillie),  202. 
Jointured      Widows,      181, 

having   a    settled    separate 

estate. 
Joliffe,  J.,  207. 
Julia  (M.  Concanen),  205. 


Kitchen  't,  184,  sauce  it. 

Kitty  [=  Lady  Katharine 
Hyde,  afterwards  Duchess 
of  Queensberry]  (M.  Prior), 
84,  85. 


Lab'ring,  52,  labouring;. 

Lang  kail,  184,  a  kind  of 
cabbage. 

Latmus'  peak,  86. 

Leinster,  Ireland,  172. 

Lettle,  195,  little. 

Leveridg:'e,  R.,  262-264. 

Liflfey's  limpid  stream,  172. 

The  likes  of  me,  202,  such  as 
me. 

Lisetta  (M.  Prior),  78,  79. 

Lockit  (J.  Gay),  171. 

Lo'ed,  202,  loved. 

London,  no,  175-177. 

Long  Heads  versus  Head- 
longs,  175. 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Love,  the  affection  between 
individuals  of  the  opposite 
sexes  that  are  capable  of 
intermarriage. 

In  love. 

My  Love,  the  Lady,  or 
Gentleman,  I  love. 

My  love,  the  love  I  have  for 
that  person. 

Love-lorn,  172,  forsaken, 
abandoned  by  one's  Love. 

Lover,  a  man  who  loves  a 
woman.  Also  called,  Ser- 
vant, True  Love. 

Loww  :rds,  3, monosyllables, 
as  in  this  very  line. 

Lu  [=  loo],  18,  a  game  at 
cards. 

Lucy  [=L.  Fortescue,  after- 
wards Lady  Lvttelton] 
(G.  Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyt- 
telton),  247-250. 

Lucy  (T.  Tickell),  \^2-\■]\. 

Lump  of  land,  181,  landed 
property. 

Ly,  ig5.  He. 

Lyttelton,  Lord  Lyttelton ; 
G.,  244-250. 


Captain  Macheath  (J.  Gay), 

170. 
Angels  in  Machines,  25,  ex 

machina,    the    intervention 

of  Supernatural    Powers    in 

human    affairs,      as     Gods, 

Goddesses,  S;c. ;  and  thence, 

the  use  of  the  supernatural 

element  in  Poetry. 
Main,  8,  10,  70,  Sic,  the  main 

ocean. 
Throw  a  Main,  71,  72,  a  throw 

of  dice  in  gambling. 
Main'd,  202,  moaned. 
Mair,  185,  more. 
Maist,  183,  most. 
The  Mall,  London,  35,  190. 
RMallet,  D.,  278,  279.I 
Mamamouche,  292. 
Margaret  (Anon.),  178-180. 
Marget  [=  Margaret],  213. 
Marlus  (A.  Ramsay),  185. 
Martialis,  M.  V.,  4. 
Lady  Mary,  135,  Lady  M.  W. 

Montagu. 
Miss  Mary  (M.  Prior),  76,  77. 
Mary,        the        Cook  -  Maid 

[  =  Scullery  Maid]  (Dean  J. 

Swift),  212,  213. 
Matthew,  91,  Matthew  Prior. 
May,  202,  Maid. 
Meander's  banks,  86. 
Mechlin  pendants,  189,  cuffs 

of  Mechlin  lace. 
Megrim    [  =  headache]    (A. 

Pope),  24. 


Meikle,  181,  great. 
Whirling    Mill,    15,    20,    the 

coffee-mill. 
Miller,  Rev.  J.,  265. 
Milton,  J.,  21,  299. 
The  Mincio  [  =  a  tributary  of 

the  Po],  39. 
Mint,  132,  a  district  in  London 

formerly    largely    inhabited 

by  poor  scribblers. 
Mint,  182,  meant. 
Mira  (Anon.),  258-260. 
Miranda  (.A..  Finch,  Countess 

of  Winchilsea),  iii. 
Mistress,     always,     in     this 

Series,  in  a  good  sense  ;  with 

its   many  equivalents,    such 

as,  sweet  Heart !  &c. 
Mizella  (A.  Phipps),  106. 
Molly  (M.  Prior),  85 


Molly  Mog  (J.  Ga;y;),  167-169. 
Montagu,   Lord    Halifax ; 


Mom'entilla,    a    Sylph 

Pope),  14. 
Monk,  Hon.  M.,  137. 


C,  38,  44, 

Montagu,  Lady  M.  W.,  135, 
143-146,  150-155. 

Montfaucon,  the  French 
Antiquary;  B.  de,  132. 

Mordatmt,  Earl  of  Peter- 
borough; C,  225. 

Mordaunt(W.  Popple),  251. 

Morley,  Mrs.  [  =  Thalestris], 
26,  27,  30-32. 

Motteux,  P.  A.,  66,  67. 

Myra  (Rev.  L.  Eusden,  P.L,), 
136. 

Myra[  =  F.  Livingstone,Coun- 
tess  of  Newburgh]  (G.  Gran- 
ville, Lord  Lansdowne),  239, 
241. 

Myra  (G.  Lyttelton,  Lord 
Lansdowne),  246. 

Myrtle  (H.  Baker,  F.R.S.), 
231. 


Na,  183,  185,  202,  &c.,  no,  not. 
Nae  mair,  185,  no  more. 
Nancy  (Archdeacon  T.  Par- 

nell.  DD.),  114,  "S- 
Nancy,  Nanny  (C.Hamilton, 

Lord  Binning),  242,  243. 
Nappy,   222,    strong,    heady 

TheNar  [^Nera],  39. 
Nassau  [=  King  William  III] 
(Rt.  Hon.  J.  Addison),  40, 

Nathing,  202,  nothmg. 

Ne,  202,  not. 

Ne'er,  60,  (>t^  155,  &c.,  never. 

The  Nile,  40. 

Nisus,  20. 

The  doctrine  of  Non  Resist- 


ance to  Kings,  when  oppres- 
sors, 148. 

The  North,  90,  Denmark, 
Sweden,  &c. 

Nothing,  265. 

Numbers,  39,  81,  108,  &c., 
Poetry. 

Nymphs,  see  Machines,  6. 

Ods-fish  !  92,  God's  fish  ! 
O'er,  3,  12,  &c.,  over. 
Ombre,  6,    17-19,    129,    189, 

a  game  of  cards. 
Laid  on  board,  99,  defeated 

in  duelling. 
Oped,  5,  opened. 
Orpheus,  no,  214. 
Othello  ( W.  Shakespeare),  34. 
My  outer    fabric,   185,  my 

body. 
Ovidius  Naso,  P.,  4,  20. 

Paget,  Lord  Paget ;   T.  C, 

292,  293. 

Pain  (A.  Pope),  24. 

Panthea  (Anon.),  97,  98. 

Paris,  71. 

Parnell.D.D.;  Archdeacon 
T.,  114-120. 

Parsonable  [=  personable], 
212,  a  man  of  good  presence. 

Parthenissa  (Capt.  Sir  R. 
Steele),  62,  63. 

Partridge,  J.,  35,  the  London 
Astrologer  who  had  been 
recently  so  mercilessly  ridi- 
culed by  Swift  under  the 
name  of  Isaac  Bickerstaff.  _ 

Passion,  predilection,  habi- 
tude. '  The  ruling  Passion 
strong  in  death.' 

Passion,  emotion,  not  neces- 
sarily of  love.  It  might  also 
be  of  anger,  grief,  zeal,  &c. 

Passion.Passions,  anxieties 
of  mind  and  agonies  of  soul 
through  love  for  one  of  the 
opposite  sex. 

Passive  Obedience,  148,  to 
the  King  as  the  Lord's 
Anointed. 

Pastora  (J.  Thurston),  226. 

So  pat,  171,  to  the  point. 

Sees  them  patch,  99,  put 
Patches  on  their  faces. 

Patch-box,  29,  box  of 
Patches. 

Patches,  9,  small  round  spots 
of  black  silk  put  by  Ladies 
on  their  faces. 

Queen,  and  a  lasting  Peace, 
37.  This  fixes  the  date  of 
the  viJriting  of  this  Song.  It 
was  written  before  the  Peace 
of  Utrecht,  March  30,  1713, 
O.S. 


310 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Penal     Law,     147,     against 

Roman  Catholics. 
Peneus   [  =  Salympria],    157, 

158. 
Petxe,LordPetre;  —  (a  little 
man,  5),  4,  11,  18,  19,  20-22, 
28,  30,  33,  34. 
Phebe    (J.    Byrom,    F.R.S), 

ICX5-103. 
Philips,  A.,  104-108,  134. 
Philips,  J.,  93. 
Phillis  (E.  Howard,   Earl  of 

Suffolk),  200. 
Phillis    (P.  Virgilius    Marc), 

i6c). 
Phillis  (W.  Walsh),  52,  54 
Phyllis  (J.  Thurston  I,  226. 
On  pillions,  1 76,  riding  behind 

a  man  on  horseback. 
Pindar,  91. 
Plato,  46-48. 
Sir  Plume  r=  Sir  G.  Brown] 

(A.  Pope),  27,  28,  32. 
Poems,  etc.— 

Alma,  by  M.  Prior,  91. 
The  Beggar's  Opera,  by 
J.  Gaj',  The  Songs  in,  170, 
171. 
Cato,  a  Tragedy,  by  the  Rt. 

Hon.  J.  Addison,  46-49. 
The  Dunciad,  written  by 

A.  Pope,  211,  212. 
Harmonica  Anglica,!  742, 
and   Thesaurus    Musi- 
cus,    1745,   in    which   tlie 
National  Anthem  first  ap- 
peared, 274,  275. 
The  Jovial  Crew,  written 
by  R.  Brome,  and  altered 
by  E.  RoOME;  Songsfrom, 
218-220. 
Le  Lutrin,  by  N.  Boileau- 

Despreaux,  4. 
Nut     Brown     Maid,     by 

M.  Prior,  91. 
Rape   of  the    Lock,   by 

A.  Pope,  1-35,  109-111. 
Rosamond,  by  Rt.  Hon.  J. 

Addison,  45. 
Solomon,  by  M.  Prior,  91. 
Taste,   an   Epistle,   by   A. 
Pope,  153. 

Polly  (J.  Gay),  171. 
Polly  (R.  Savage),  206. 
Polyphemus,  159. 
Polytimus  (M.  V.  Martialis), 

4- 

Poortith,  181,  poverty. 

Pope,  A,,  1-36,  46-47,  109, 
132,  135,  150,  151,  210-212. 

Popple,  W.,  251. 

Poppling  stream,  185,  bub- 
bling. 

Pother,  202,  bustle. 

Pottle  Pot,  130,  a  pot  con- 
taining half  a  gallon. 


Powder,  14,  for  the  face,  or 

hair. 
A  Prelate  for  wit,  &c.,  134, 

Bishop  F.  Atterbury. 
Wi'   poortith  prest,   184,   op- 
pressed with  poverty. 
Young  Pretender,  27s,  Prince 

C.  E.  Stuart. 
Inferior  Priestess,  9,  Betty, 

the  lady's-maid. 
Prior,  M.,  68-92,  132,  135. 
ProcuUus,  35. 
Prudentia     (C.     Mordaunt, 

Earl  of  Peterborough),  225. 
In  pudding  time,  148,  in  the 

nick    of   time,    the    critical 

moment. 
Purling,  224,  rippling. 
Puss,  216,  a  popular  name  for 

the  hare. 
Pygmalion,  238. 

Quadrille,  224,  271,  a  game 

of  cards. 
The  Queen,  37,  Queen  Anne. 
Quite  a',  185,  quit  all. 

R.  S.,  194,  '9.';- 
Ramsay,  A.,  181-185. 
Raphael,  42,  S.  Raffaelle. 
Young    Rattles,    177,    loud, 

foolish  talkers. 
The     Red     [Coat],     65,     the 

Officers  of  the  Army. 
Redlynch  Park,  Somerset, 

288. 
The  Revolution  of  1688,  147. 
Riggs,  i8i,  hills. 
The  Ring,  6,  27,  190,  270,  a 

circular    carriage    drive    in 

Hyde  Park,  London. 
Rivelled,  15,  shrivelled. 
Robin  [=  the  poetical  name 

of     C.      Hamilton,      Lord 

Binning],  242,  243. 
Rome,  41. 
Roome,  E.,  218-220. 
Rosamonda's  Lake  in  St. 

James'  Park,  London,  35. 
'Rose,  220,  arose. 
Rowe,  P.L. ;  N.,  124-127. 
Russet   [=  a   reddish-brown 

colour],    223,    a    home-spun 

gown. 

'S.  3,  37,  &c.,  is. 

'S,  37,  66,  228,  &c.,  us. 

Sabina  (W.  Congreve),  57. 

Sabina  (Archdeacon  T.  Par- 
nell,  D.D.),  119. 

Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset ; 
C,  92. 

Saint  Osyth,  291,  in  Essex. 

Salamanders,  see  Ma- 
chines, 6. 


Salisbury,  112. 

Sally  [=  Sarah]  (H.  Carey), 

266-268. 
Sally  (Rev.  J.  Hoadly),  254, 

Sappho,  Songs  by,  104-106. 

Sappho  (C.  Mordaunt,  Earl 
of  Peterborough),  225. 

Sapphos,  109,  Poetesses. 

Saul,  1S5  soul. 

Savage,  R.,  206,  207. 

Scylla,  20. 

Semele  (\V.  Congreve),  58. 

Seraphina  (J.  Tliomson),  284. 

Shakespeare,  W.,  299. 

She,  the  emphatic  feminine 
Personal  Pronoun,  used 
where  the  poetical  name  of 
the  Lady  does  not  occur. 

She'd,  60,  97,  200,  &c.,  she 
would. 

Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham;  J.,  i3i-i.^.S- 

She'll,  76,  77,  if^2,  iv:c.,  she 
will. 

Sheridan,  D.D.;  Rev.  T., 
212,  213. 

Sherlock,  R.,  212. 

Shippen,  M.P.  ;  — ,  134,  the 
incorruptible  Jacobite. 

Sic,  183,  202,  such. 

Side-Box,  30,  of  a  theatre, 
filled  with  Gentlemen  bowing 
to  the  Ladies  in  the  Front 
Box. 

Silver  token,  t;-  see  V,  150. 

Silvia  (A.  Finch,  Countess  of 
Winchilsea),  m. 

Silvio  (Anon.),  233-235. 

Simmer,  182,  summer. 

Sirrah  !  72,  an  angry,  or  con- 
temptuous, exclamation. 

Skair,  185,  share. 

Sma'  folk  [=  small  people], 
184,  the  middle  class. 

A  snush-box,  71,  snuff-box. 

Soe'er,  52,  soever. 

Somervile,  W.,  214-217. 

The  Sound  must  seem  an 
echo  to  the  Sense,  3. 

Southerne,  T.,  135. 

South  Sea,  175-177,  the 
Pacific  Ocean. 

SoulhSea  Babel,or  Bubble, 
177,  188,  the  speculations 
for  fisheries,  &c.,  &c.,  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  of  1720. 

Spain,  90,  262,  263. 

Sparks,  7,  181,  Gallants. 

Speer  na,  185,  enquire  not. 

Spleen,  a  Goddess  (A.  Pope), 
23-26. 

Spleen,  144,  dejection,  melan- 
choly. 

Springes,  11,  shares. 

Vulgar  springs,  46,  motives. 

'Spying,  135,  espying. 

3" 


Glossary  and  Index. 


Squairly,  185,  squarely. 
The  Stagyrite,  go,  Aristotle. 
Hi  stlW,  195,  he  stole. 
Fragrant  steams,  21,  of  the 

coffee. 
Stesle,  Capt.  Sir  R.,  62,  (,1, 

Stella  [=^?  Esther  Johnson] 
(M.  Barber),  221. 

Stella  (M.  Prior),  88. 

Stowe,  248,  249,  CO.  Bucks. 

Straight,  65,  immediately,  at 
once 

Strait  [  =  straight],  20,  imme- 
diately. 

Straths,  184,  valleys. 

Strephon  (Anon.),  233-23^. 

Strephon  (Anon.),  2^8-260. 

Strephon  (W.    Bedmgfield), 

„  >5o,  I.S7- 

Strephon  (R.  Leveridge), 
264. 

Strephon  (Lady  M.  W. 
Montagu),  14:;. 

Strephon  (A.  Philips),  108. 

Strephon  (E.  Roome),  218. 

Stuart,  Mrs.  (H.  Carey),  276. 

Surly  (Anon.),  gS,  99. 

Black-eyed  Susan  (J.  Gay), 
160  162. 

The  Swede,  44,  Sweden. 

Swift,  Dean  J.,  135,  210-213. 

Swig,  268,  drink. 

Take  my  swing,  224,  enjoy 
myself^  thoroughly. 

Sword-knots,  8,  12,  knotted 
ribbands  or  tassels  tied  to 
sword-hilts. 

Sylphs,  Sylphids,  see  Ma- 
chines,  5,    12-15,    17.    20, 

>2.  32,  35. 

Sylvia  (A.  Pope),  12. 
Sylvia  (W.  Walsh),  52. 


In  a  pitiful  taking,  143,  in  a 

great  perplexity,  quandary. 
Tauk,  183   talk.' 
The  Tay,  184,  the  largest  river 

in  Scotland. 
Temple,  Sir  W.,  125. 
Th',  3,  It,  12,  &.c.y  the. 
Thalestris  [  =  Mrs.    Morley] 

(A.  Pope),  4,  26,  27,  30-32. 
Silver  Thames,  10, 16,  86,  &c 
They'll,  149.  they  will. 
They're,  i4g,  they  are. 
They'se,  181.  they  will. 
They've,  149,  they  have. 
Tho  ,  194,  though. 
Thomas   (Rev.    J.    Hoadly), 

2.54,  255. 
Thomson,  J.,  278-284. 
Thou'rt,  154,  thou  art. 
Thurston,  J.,  226,  227. 
Thyrsis  (G,  Granville,  Lord 

Lansdowne),  340,  241. 


Thyrsis  (Archdeacon  T.  Par- 
nell,  D.D.),  119. 

Gentle  Tiber,  40. 

Tickell,  T.,  172-174. 

'Tis,  3,  7,  45,  &c.,  it  is. 

A  Toast,  "30,  84,  124,  &c., 
a  Beauty,  a  Belle. 

Modern  Toasting,  67,  drink- 
ing the  Healths  of  Beauties 
and  Queens  of  Society. 

Well-tochered  Lasses,  181, 
dowered. 

Tonson,   the   Publisher;    J., 

^124,  125,  132. 

T'  other,  165,  170,  177,  &c., 
the  othi-r. 

Toupees,  204,  2.=;8,  270,  small 
wii;s,  artificial  curls  or  locks. 

Town,  108  (London  Town, 
no),  133,  192,  ^c,  the  Lon- 
don fashionable  World. 

Toyshop,  8,  a  haberdashery 
shop  for  Ladies  {not  a  place 
for  children's  toys). 

Train,  12,  company. 

Train,  17,  215,  220,  &c.,  at- 
tendants. 

Tr— p,  134. 

Troy,  22,  72. 

TuUy— see  Cicero,  M.T. 

'Twas,  5,  i^.s,  100,  &c.,  it  was. 

The  nver  Tweed,  184. 

'Twill,  155,  it  will. 

Twitched,  92,  plucked. 

Ulysses,  26. 
Umbria,  40. 

Umbriel,  a  Gnome,  see  Ma- 
chines, 23-26,  28,  32. 
Treaty  of  Utrecht,  37,  91. 

Vanbrugh,    Capt.    Sir    J., 

124,  125,  134. 
Professor  Van  der  Bruin,  75. 

Vapours,  25,  144,  dejection, 
melancholy. 

Velvet  plain,  17,  verdant 
Field,  18,  level  Green,  19. 
It  wouhi  seem  that  the  card- 
table  was  covered  with  green 
velvet. 

Venus,  35,  the  Planet. 

Vials  t=phialsj,  25,  26,  28, 
medicine  bottles. 

Virenia  (E.  Howard,  Earl  of 
Suffolk),  201. 

Virgilius  Maro,  P.,  38,  40, 

44.  Jfig. 
Vittels,  213,  victuals. 

Wad,  202,  would. 
Wade,  Marshal,  275. 
Wadna,  183,  would  not 
Wadst,  183,  wouldst. 
Wair'd,  183,  spent. 


The  wale,  184,  the  best. 
Waller,  E.,  3. 
Walsh,  W.,  52-54. 
Waltham  Cross,  219. 
Ward,  E.,  17=;- 177- 
Wash,  14,  a  hair  Wash. 
Waterland,  D.D. ;  Rev.  D., 

We'll,  37,  59,  &c.,  we  will. 
Welsted,  L.,  138,  139. 
We're,  155,  we  are. 
Wesley  the  Elder,  Rev.  S., 

199. 
West,  R.,  285-287. 
Westminster  Abbey,  209. 
Whaever,  184,  whoever. 
Where'er,  3,  wherever. 
White  minute,  183,  favour- 
able opportunity,  as  happy 

minute,  196. 
White  Rods  [= White  Staffs] 

in  Waiting,  64. 
White's    Chocolate    House, 

now  White's  Club,  St.  James' 

Street,  London,  64,  108. 
Who've,  177,  who  have. 
Will-a-wisp,   167,   Ignis  fa- 

tuus,  marsh  gas. 
William  (Anon.),  178-180. 
Sweet  William  (J.  Gay),  160- 

162. 
King  WilUam  III,  40,  44,  91, 

148. 
Williams,  K.B. ;  Sir  C.  H., 

28'-!-2gi. 
Will's     [=  William    Urwin's 

Coffee     House,    in    Russell 

Street,       Covent      Garden, 

London],  108. 
Willy,  203,  wily. 
They  winiple,  184,  meander. 
Winifreda  (Anon.),  208,  209. 
Ere  he  wist,  183,   before  he 

knew. 
Withoutten,  184,  without. 


Yarrow.    196,     197,    Yarrow 

Water  in  Selkirkshire. 
Y— g,  134,  ?  Rt.  Hon.  Sir  W. 

Yonge,  Bart. 
Yonge,    Bart. ;    Rt.    Hon. 

Sir  W.,  236,  237. 
You'd,    60,    206,    &c..    you 

would. 
You'll,  II,  you  will. 
You're,  98,'  143,  206,  &c.,  you 

are. 
You've,  137, 143,  228,  &c.,  you 

have. 


Zelinda  (A.  Philips),  106. 
Zelinda    (L.   Welstedj,    13S, 

Zephyretta,a  Sylph(A.Pope), 
14- 


312 


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New    and    Revised   Edition.      With 

Introduction,   Notes,  and   Glossarial 

Index. 

Parti.  From  Old  English  Homilies 

to  King  Horn  (a.d.  1150  to 

A.d.  1300).    By  R.  Morris, 

LL.D.  Second  Edition.   Extra 

fcap.  Svo,  9^. 

Part  II.  From  Robert  of  Gloucester 

to  Gower  (a.d.  1298  to  A.D. 

i393^'    ByR.  MoRRis.LL.D., 

and  W.   W.  Skeat,   Litt.D. 

Third  Edition,  Revised.  Extra 

fcap.  Svo,  ~s.  6d. 

Specimens  of  English  Literature, 
from  the  '  Ploughman's  Crede '  to 
the  'Shepheardes  Calender'  (a.D. 
1394  to  A.D.  1579).  With  Introduc- 
tion, Notes,  and  Glossarial  Index. 
By  W.  W.  Skeat,  Litt.D.  Fifth 
Edition.     Extra  fcap.  Svo,  ^s.  6d. 

Typical  Selections  from  the  best 
English  Writers,  with  Introductory 
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Papers   in    'Tke   Spectator^  With 

Notes.  By  T.  Arnold,  M. A.  Extra 
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AUBREY.  'Brief  Lives,' 
chiefly  of  Contemporaries,  set  down 
by  John  Aubrey,  between  the  Years 
1669  and  1696.  Edited  from  the 
Author's  MSS.  by  Andrew  Clark, 
M.A,,  LL.D.     2  vols.     8vo,  25^. 

BACON.      I.    Advancement    of 
Learning.      Edited    by    W,   Aldis 
Wright,   D.C.L.     Third  Edition. 
Extra  fcap.  8vo,  4J.  dd. 

//.    The    Essays.     Edited, 

with  Introduction  and  Illustrative 
Notes,  by  S.  H.  Reynolds,  M.A. 
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BEAUCHAMP.  Hindu  Man- 
ners,  Customs,  and  Ceremonies. 
By  the  Abbe  J.  A.  Dubois.  Trans- 
lated from  the  Author's  later 
French  MS.  and  Edited  with  Notes, 
Corrections,  and  Biography,  by 
Henry  K.  Beauchamp.  With  a 
Prefatory  Note  by  the  Right  Hon. 
F.  Max  Muller,  and  a  Portrait. 
Second  Edition.     8vo,  ijj.  net. 

BO  SWELLS  Life  of  Samuel 
Johnson,  LL.D. ;  including  Bos- 
Well's  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the 
Hebrides,  and  Johnson's  Diary  of 
a  Journey  into  North  Wales.  Edited 
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six  vols.,  8vo.  With  Portraits  and 
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BUNYAN.  I.  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  Grace  Abotmding,  Rela- 
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E.  Venables,  M.A.  Extra  fcap.  8vo, 
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BURKE.  Select  Works.  Edited, 
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Payne,  M.A. 

I.  Thoughts  on  the  Present  Dis- 
contents; the  two  Speeches  on  America. 
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II.  Reflections  on  the  French  Revo- 
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III.  Four  Letters  on  the  Proposals 
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CHES  TER  FIEL  D.        Lord 

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CLARENDON.  Characters  and 
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FULLER.  Wise  Words  and 
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HE  WINS.  The  Whitefoord 
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foord, from  1739  to  1810.  Edited, 
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JOHNSON.  Wii  and  Wisdom 
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BiRKBECK   Hill,  D.C.L.       Crown 

8vo,  7j.  6d. 

Letters  of  Samuel  Johnson, 

LL.D.  Collected  and  Edited 
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MORE.  The  Utopia  of  Sir 
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